Patrimony
by Theolyn
Summary: My answer to the surrogate challenge. Hermione is a successful witch. She knows who she is, and she knows what she wants. And what she wants is a child fathered by Severus Snape. Rated M for later chapters. Non DH/HBP compliant. Now Complete!
1. Offer

Patrimony

By The0lyn

Chapter One

Severus Snape, potionsmaster, sat hunched over his great desk, scowling at the latest pile of poorly executed essays. It was cold in the dungeons, colder than it needed to be, just shy of the point when Snape's breath would have become a cloud in the air. Of course, Snape could have created warmth for himself, without even lifting his wand, had he chose. But he did not so choose. Snape viewed comfort as an indulgence, distraction, a road to complacency. He would never allow himself to become so soft.

Even now, so many years after the war's close, he felt he must remain ever vigilant, lest a small lapse come with a great price. He preferred to stay sharp. Discomfort was long his companion, and to have made any other choice would have been, for him, impossible. And so, he allowed the cold to seep into his joints as he continued to slash red ink upon the papers before him.

It was fourth years in this pile. His favorite year. You could practically smell the hormones wafting up off the page. It never ceased to amaze him how that year could begin as children, homely, gangly, awkward, and somehow end the term in sleek versions of their adult forms. It secretly amused him to watch the transition, to see duckling after duckling become swan after swan and then watch them careen into the absurdities of the opposite sex like birds smashing into plate glass. So much energy, so much drama, all squandered on the fruitless task of acquiring a mate. On an intellectual level, the whole thing was fascinating, if a bit repulsive. If only they could be kept under glass, teenagers would make the most satisfying research subjects.

The thought of locking the entire class in a glass case brought an uncharacteristic smile to his face.

Hermione Granger had been watching Severus Snape grade papers for almost a minute. In that stolen moment, she'd seen him scowl, snort, and even smile at the papers in front of him. Why, she realized, he's fond of them. How interesting.

No sooner had the thought formed in her head, than the professor's head whipped up, as if he'd heard her musings.

"Professor."

"Miss Granger," he rose gracefully from from his chair, all the better to intimidate her. "Brightest witch of the age. Lauded heroine of the Dark Lord's last battle. Youngest Director of Research for Magic and Wizardry Industries in over a century." His voice practically dripped with sarcasm. "To what do I owe this honor?"

As a child, that tone would have flustered her. His nearness would have frightened her further. But Hermione was a woman grown now. She knew who she was, and she had a deep confidence in her abilities. She would not be easily discouraged by the professor's games.

"I am here to ask for your help professor."

"My help? Interesting. And what form, prey, would such assistance take?"

Hermione paused. She was an attractive woman. Much to her chagrin, she'd ended up with a shape that spoke lingere model more than "serious intellectual capacity." Over the years, she'd become resigned to the gleam that appeared in her male colleagues eyes. And now, when she would have welcomed such a reaction, she saw none. There was no sign at all that he even saw her as woman. There was only the deep fathomless intensity she remembered from her childhood. Spy's eyes, she thought, involuntarily.

"That would depend upon you, professor. I am open to suggestions. You see, I want to have a child, Professor... and I want the father to be you."

End Chapter One


	2. Retreat

Patrimony

Chapter Two

In his years of dual service, Severus had learned to live with uncertainty. The throb of the dark mark could come at any moment. Without notice, he would find himself catapulted into depravity, wether it be some sadistic ritual, or the sometimes more startling realities of instructing dunderheaded magical children. He considered himself impervious to the emotion of surprise. It served no purpose, and had been, he'd thought, burned from his emotional lexicon.

And yet, confronted by a brilliant, attractive, and talented witch who seemed to be demanding a genetic contribution to her future offspring, surprise seemed to be the operative word. At least his years of subterfuge had taught him to school his face to inscrutability. He took great comfort that she need never know that she had shocked him.

Hermione thought Snape looked like she had just slapped him in the face with a cold, dead fish. Had the matter not been so important to her, she would have burst out laughing to see the great Bat of the Dungeons so discomfited. As it stood, this too important to laugh about. And he was, she knew, a very touchy man. Laughter would not help her reach her objective, so she swallowed back the impulse. Stick to the plan. Use your logic.

"Professor, I find myself unable, or perhaps unwilling, to ally myself with any of the wizards of my generation. And yet, I want a child. i want one very badly. You are a man of practicality, so I hope you'll understand that I wish to have the best possible sire for my child. I've spent quite a great deal of time thinking of this, and my thoughts have continuously returned to you. Considering that you do not, as yet, have an heir, i was hoping that you might be interested in this project yourself."

Snape was aware of a buzzing in his head, which seemed to be have its cause in the tremendous quantity of thoughts that were zooming around in there, like memos through the ministry of magic. He struggled, in vain for a moment, to grab on to one. When he finally did, it was one of indignation. This impertinance could not be tolerated, Snape thought. He pulled himself up to his full height, and loomed over the petite witch in a menacing fashion. She'd always folded under his sarcasm, so he drawled as insolently as he could.

"Well, Miss Granger, that's...quaint. Please tell me, how exactly, did you plan on accomplishing this... insemination? Were you thinking of simply using the surface of my desk" he patted it for emphasis, then gestured grandly towards the ground "or did you wish to retire to the floor?"

Hermione raised a single eyebrow. The man was a minefield of defenses. "Professor, you'll find I'm no longer a child you can embarrass or intimidate. And surely I would be of little interest to you were that the case. You never had much use for the timid, as I recall. But to answer your question, we could of course bypass intercourse entirely, and go the route of artificial insemination. But I find that I am a traditionalist at heart. The idea of taking you for a lover holds more appeal to me."

Snape's face stayed flat and emotionless. But Hermione found it very telling that when she'd said the word "lover" Snape had started, almost imperceptibly drawing his dramatic cloak about his body, as if warding off a chill. Perhaps the great Snape was not as good at subterfuge as he'd once been. Well, he'd not appreciate her telling him that. It was obvious that she had his attention. That was enough for now. Time, she thought, to retreat.

"Professor, I recognize that my request is a bit unorthodox, and so, I'll give you some time to consider it. I hope you'll owl me soon, as my next ovulation should occur in 9 days." Hermione took three swift strides towards him, and laid a slow, soft kiss upon Severus' cheek. "I very much look forward to your owl." She turned and strode from the room.

She wasn't there to see the inscruitable Severus Snape reflexively touch the warm spot her lips had left.

AN: I am SO enjoying writing this story!! Thank you to all of you who've taken the time to review this work in progress. I'm particularly grateful to those who've pointed out specifics about what they like or dislike. It really helps me to refine future chapters. More soon!

Thanks! The0lyn.


	3. Deliberation

Patrimony

Chapter Three

Hermione sat, savoring a glass of wine. If everything went well, a delicate sauvignon blanc might soon be out of her reach. She contemplated the day's events. If her instincts about Snape proved true, she'd hear from him one way or the other in the morning. Still, she worried that perhaps she'd played it all wrong. Perhaps, she should have been more circumspect. She could have blushed and hinted rather than the direct route.

No, she couldn't believe that. She knew from her own childhood that Snape could smell subterfuge from a mile away. He would respect her forthrightness. He simply had to.

Hermione sighed and surveyed the golden liquid in her glass. It was all so complicated. Things might have been different if Ron hadn't died. Maybe their young love would have survived into the real world. Maybe they would already have a handful of little Weasleys running around the house, filling her home with laughter. Somehow, though, she doubted it. More likely, he would have gotten tired of her know-it-allness, and she tired of his disdain for intellectual stimulation, and maybe they would have bickered their young love to death. Statistically speaking, true love born in highschool was unlikely indeed.

So how had she found herself at this point in her life? Soliciting an enigmatic older man for what amounted to life's biggest sexual favor? And Severus Snape, too. Without a doubt, this was the strangest turn her life had taken since the owl had come inviting her to a school of witchcraft and wizardry.

But the louder her biological clock had ticked, the more she'd found herself daydreaming of her old professor, until finally, the connection had become concrete in her mind. She wanted a child. And she wanted to have that child with Severus Snape. She'd even gone so far as to make a list, weighing her options. The more she thought of it, the more sense it seemed to make.

Fact: Severus Snape was brilliant and a powerful wizard.

Fact: he was, to her knowledge, unattached, and had no acknowledged heir.

Fact: though sneaky, he had also proven himself to be dogged in his follow-through to his commitments.

Fact: he'd suffered enough. Wasn't he entitled to some joy? Some happiness?

That the last wasn't strictly factual, and that the implication was that having a child with her would be a joyful experience did not escape Hermione's notice. She simply shoved it, along with her doubts, into the very back of her well-ordered mind. She was convinced. Severus Snape had better fall into line.

- - - - - - -

The gentleman in question sat in his quarters, sipping firewhiskey, contemplating the day's events. He felt, unsettled, yes, that was the word for it, as if a storm had come into his office and disordered all of his carefully categorized parchments.

And what a storm it was. A fearless, intelligent storm with a dragon's weight of determination. Impressive, really. It wasn't often that he met a student who managed to fulfill, and even exceed their adolescent potential. And yet, he knew by reputation that Hermione had done just that, carving out a leading role in a vast corporate juggernaut despite the limitations of youth and beauty. He would not have guessed it. Not that Hermione hadn't been a gifted child. She'd been gifted and annoying in equal measure. But she'd been so sensitive, so easily crushed. During the worst of the war, she'd been so tender that he'd doubted that she would survive. With each horror she witnessed, each friend dead, he'd assumed that she would break. And for a time, it had appeared that she had. She'd disappeared from the wizarding world for several years in her grief. And yet, somehow, she seemed to have emerged, tempered from the adversity, and had taken the wizarding world by storm.

Severus considered the woman Hermione had become. Formidable. That's what she was, with her outrageous demands, her fearlessnes, her shameless cheek kissing. Probably still annoying, come to think of it, but at the moment, the other aspects of her personality seemed to have claimed his attention.

Severus smiled. He'd always appreciated a formidable opponent. In the privacy of his own study, he could admit that she had quite unhinged him with her ludicrous demands. Ludicrous? Well, of course they were ludicrous. Asking him to sire her child. It was...it was...well, if he was honest with himself, it was shocking and earnest and audacious. But what was it about her offer that was so audacious? That it flaunted social convention? Since when had he, Severus Snape, given any thought or importance to social acceptability?

The entire idea was quite sensible, really. Hadn't he himself compared the usual mating rituals with suicidal flight paths? Wouldn't it be far better if individuals calmly approached a suitable mate with a clearly worded offer? She'd done just that with quiet dignity, despite his best efforts to derail her. On the whole, sensible. So why had he become so flustered?

He sipped at his drink, and considered the phrase "suitable mate." Perhaps this was the crux of the matter. As one of Lord Voldemort's trusted companions, he had long ago ceased to be suitable as a mate for anyone. What he'd seen, what he'd done...it had changed him, removed the portions of his psyche that sought love and companionship of any kind. He would be no woman's mate, that was certain. But he supposed there was nothing wrong with his biology. He should certainly be capable of siring offspring, if not fathering it.

Why him, though? A woman with her looks and position would have no shortage of suitors. Of course, neither did he. While he was not unattractive, he was certainly nowhere near a paragon of male beauty. Still, he knew from experience that externals were rarely the primary motivators for female mate selection. There had always been women who had been willing and eager to share his bed.

But Hermione had not come to him purely to mate, but rather to create a child. While he'd never considered it before, it was obvious that as a sire he certainly had desirable attributes. To a woman of Miss Granger's ilk, intellect would have been of primary importance. He certainly could not fault her for that reasoning. He was, he knew, brilliant. His intellect was the quintessential characteristic of his self-definition. His instinct for the creation of potions was, he suspected, without living peer. His eidetic memory allowed him instant access to the thousands of books that he had consumed in his lifetime. Logic, mathematics, magical history, in all of these areas, he was supremely adept. Furthermore, he was one of the rare wizards who was able to use his intellect to enhance his magical gifts. For most, the two areas were compartmentalized, impossible to access at the same time. For him, there was a marriage between the two, enabling him to stretch into new potions, new spells, new adaptations of traditional approaches. He was, he suspected, unique in that respect.

That a sensible woman like Miss Granger might seek to reproduce with him now seemed, upon reflection, a logical conclusion.

And shouldn't he produce an heir? That his father had been a wastrel and a violent lout did not change the fact that his family had once been a noble line. As a man of learning, he could now see how their fanatical adherence to blood purity had caused their descent into depravity as well as the loss of their magical potency. He had recently begun to credit his own gifts to the fact that his mother had brought a fair share of muggle blood to revitalize their flagging bloodstock. Miss Granger was magically potent. No doubt her full-muggle lineage would serve to further revitalize the Snape legacy.

In short, the entire idea was capital. His only regret was that he had not instantly grasped the advantages of the proposal. He would rectify the matter at once. If Miss Granger wanted to take Severus Snape to her bed, then to her bed he would go. They would mate, they would produce a child, and they would each go their separate ways. The idea suited him down to the ground.

With that, Snape finished his firewhiskey with a sound of deep satisfaction. He scourgified his glass, replaced it its proper location. When everything was in its place, he retired to his bed. It was settled, then. He would owl Miss Granger in the morning.

End Chapter Three

AN: I love Snape's ego, don't you? Thank you to everyone who was kind enough to review. It's a fantastic motivator.


	4. Contract

Chapter 4

Ministry of Magic Filing 20067-291

Handfasting Contract betwixt

Severus T. Snape and Hermione Jane Granger

The following constitutes a magical contract, and as such is legal and binding:

Item One: Both parties consent to submit to the fecundas test, in order to confirm their fertility. Said potion will be manufactured exclusively by Severus Snape.

Item Two: Provided the abovementioned test yields two positives, and confirms that the above parties are fertile together, the parties agree to be handfasted for the period of one calendar year, for the purpose of conceiving a child. For the duration of the partnership, the parties agree to take no other sexual partners.

Item Three: To accomplish said goal of conceiving a child, each month the above parties will engage in sexual intercourse, at a minimum of once a day, for a five day period. This five day period shall commence two days prior and end two days after H. Granger's predicted date of ovulation. Any potions used to determine said ovulation date will be manufactured exclusively by Severus Snape.

Item Four: Once conception is achieved, the partnership shall refocus its efforts upon the objective of fetal health and well being. Severus Snape will produce any and all prenatal potions, which H Granger agrees to consume fully and without argument.

Item Five: Both parties will attend regular prenatal screenings. Any potions required, endorsed or recommended by the midwyfe will be manufactured exclusively by Severus Snape. H Granger reserves the right to eject S. Snape from any screening at which he becomes in any way annoying.

Item Five: Severus Snape will join H Granger at the birth of the child, with the understanding that delivery, and any decisions pertaining to it, will be the sole domain of H Granger. S Snape acknowledges that he will not interfere in any way with H. Granger's choices in this arena, potions, or no potions.

Item Six: Upon birth, the child shall be declared sole heir of the Snape family patrimony, and shall carry the name Snape as sole surname. The choice of first name will remain the exclusive choice of H Granger.

Item Seven: Custody of the child shall remain exclusively with H Granger with the exception of one week annually which S Snape will be required to spend with his heir, whether he likes it or not. H Granger agrees to be present during this week until such time as the child is able to care for his or her own bodily functions without aid.

Item Eight: In the event that conception does not occur during the term of one calendar year, this handfasting is dissolved and the contract becomes null and void.

Item Nine: In the event that either party wishes to be released from this contract, he or she must obtain the full magical consent of the other party, otherwise the contract shall remain in force until the end of the handfasting period.

As we have stated, so shall it be.

Acknowledged,

Hermione J. Granger Severus T. Snape

End Chapter 4

AN: don't you wish you could have been there when THIS was negotiated?


	5. Preparation

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Severus placed a stopper in the second small blue bottle with great satisfaction. It had taken most of the last two days to manufacture the potion, and it was, at last, perfect, just in time for Miss Granger's arrival. Considering the fact that she was going to provide him with an heir, he figured that a gesture of this kind would be a worthy start to the project.

He'd hoped to devote some time to a long bath prior to her arrival; they were to consummate their relationship this evening. But, as so often happened when he focused upon a challenge, time had escaped him. He settled for a quick scourgify; not the most comfortable charm to endure, but it accomplished the task effectively, rendering his hair, skin and clothes clean and scent-free.

His ablutions complete, Snape placed both bottles on a side table, and settled down to wait. Unlike most people, he had no need for a book or project to while away the minutes. Nor did he fret or fidget in any way. He simply commanded himself to "wait", and that's what he did. Silently, and with perfect stillness.

Thus, when Miss Granger's knock sounded, precisely at 9 pm, he simply stepped forward and answered it.

"You are timely this evening, Miss Granger."

Hermione grinned, "I know who I'm dealing with. I'd hate to have you give me detention on our first date."

Snape raised an eyebrow, and gestured Hermione into the room.

Hermione was surprised. Whereas Snape's basement was a barren, cold environment, this space radiated warmth and male charm. She'd entered into a library of sorts, furnished with a single, well used armchair, a simple, sturdy desk, and a luxurious rug in deep jewel colors. The wall opposite the door was all windows, commanding a beautiful view of the whomping willow. No wonder Snape had always intercepted them there.

The other three walls were furnished, floor to ceiling, with a seemingly endless quantity of books. Snape watched Hermione's eyes lose focus and turn greedy. She practically ran across the room and began scanning titles. It was exactly the kind of reaction he might have had if their roles had been reversed, although, thought Snape, he would have displayed his interest with more dignity.

"Professor, this is wonderful. Your collection is magnificent."

Snape nodded his head imperiously, and with a wave of his wand, summoned another armchair. The twin of his, it had obviously never been used.

"May I offer you a drink, Miss Granger?"

Hermione accepted the glass, and clinked it against his.

"For luck."

"Indeed."

They drank deeply. As the silence began to grow uncomfortable, Snape went to his side table, and produced the matching blue bottles. He handed them to Hermione.

"A gift. It might make tonight's exercise more comfortable for you. Two portions. Amas Veritas. I have just completed it."

Hermione gasped, jumped from her chair, and lunged for the potions. Amas Veritas, the true love potion. She could hardly believe it. Considered virtually impossible to make. Worth a dragonsweight of gold on the black market. Supremely subtle and effective, if shortlived. Whereas other potions created an approximation of love that often rendered the consumer psychotic with desire, Amas Veritas actually pulled love from the soul. It was said to be indistinguishable from the real thing. For the duration of the potion you would actually love he person who had taken the other draught. After an hour or two, it simply ended, leaving no trace behind. Remarkable.

Severus Snape locked his dark, inscrutable eyes on to Hermione's. "If you wish, we may both take the potion. It should make our first…encounter less awkward for you."

Hermione shook her head in wonder. "This must have taken you days. Have you made it before? Does it work? Have you tried it yourself?"

"Yes, No, Yes, and No. It's been tested. I assure you it is perfectly made."

Hermione chuckled, and turned a glowing face to Snape. "I have no doubt of that." She stroked one of the bottles with reverence. "It means so much to me that you would go through so much trouble for us. But I can't take this potion. We've done a fair job of being honest with each other. If we took this potion, well, it wouldn't be real, now would it?"

"No, Miss Granger, it wouldn't be real."

"And believe me," Hermione said, as she put both bottles in her purse. "I need no artificial help to want this."

"Miss Granger, the Amas Veritas potion has no shelf life; there is no reason for you to take it with you."

Hermione smiled. "I know that Professor. But you must forgive me. It's my first gift from the father of my child. I'd like to keep it, for sentimental reasons." She set down her purse, and walked over to Snape, draping her arms around his shoulders. "Now, let's see if we can't figure out something…I can give you."

End Chapter 5

AN: Lemons are a coming, lemons are a coming, hi-ho the merry oh the lemons are a coming! Thanks again for all your reviews. Very much appreciated. And in return, tomorrow, I give you lemons!


	6. Consummation

Patrimony

Patrimony

Chapter Six: Consummation

In all his years as a spy, Severus had become very adept at preserving his own life. When his brain detected danger, he went into a state of sensory hyper-awareness. Scent, sight, smell, touch, taste, all of them sharpened, flooding his brain with heightened input in the hope that somehow, the additional information might be used to keep him alive. It was self-preservation at its finest.

How strange then, that as Miss Granger closed the distance between them, looped her arms around his neck, he felt his body respond as if danger was imminent. The smell of her flooded his awareness, even before her softness branded his chest. Somehow, in his preparation for this moment, he hadn't counted on her scent being quite so heady, her body quite so soft, her lips quite so enticing. He hadn't anticipated his response to the hitch in her breathing. Hadn't dreamed that her mouth would taste so rich. Hadn't counted on his fingers twining into her hair, diving into its silk as if of their own volition. He hadn't known that growling sound would come from low in his chest as he dove deeper into her mouth.

With his last rational thought, Severus pulled back from the kiss. Hermione's lips were swollen, her eyes dilated, her breath coming in short irregular pants.

It had been many years since Snape had allowed himself physical intimacy of any kind. It had been just another discipline, another form of self-mastery to deny that aspect of his life. But he had underestimated the strength of that need in his own body. He was unprepared for his body's utter revolt, its violent joy at having a comely witch pressed against it. After enduring decades of servitude at the hands of his brain, Severus' body was not about to let his brain bungle this. A mere moment after pulling away from Miss Granger, Snape growled and pulled her back into him. Closer. He must get closer.

Hermione wasn't sure what had just happened. One moment, he was kissing the life out of her, the next he was pushing her away, and then suddenly, he was everywhere, enveloping her in his long arms, his lips burning down the column of her neck, his arousal grinding against her core. She made a brief attempt to regain control of the situation, and then, realizing she really didn't give a damn about control right now, she surrendered to his urgency.

When she'd first brought the idea of this project to his attention, Snape had snidely suggested they consummate it on the floor. She noticed, vaguely, that that was indeed where they found themselves, splayed out over the Bokkhara rug, their clothes disappearing into the void more rapidly than jungle acreage from the Amazon.

Those hands, oh, gods, those long, potion-making fingers seemed determined to map every inch of her body, stroking, probing, bruising, soothing. Wherever they went, his mouth followed, until Hermione felt as if she might be consumed in her entirety, a final feast for a starving man. His singular focus was upon her, only her. Her body ached with the need to feel him inside of her.

She was making sounds now. Sounds she couldn't control. Low sounds. Pleading sounds. Sounds that sounded like Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Please. Now.

Finally, and only when she was thoroughly mapped and charted, the taste of her spread on his lips and tongue, did he crawl up her, lever himself above her. His eyes demanded hers, his gaze locked on to hers as he sank, at last, slowly, into her aching body.

From the first moment, they moved together like they'd always been lovers. No wasted movements, no jarring motions, just a slow grinding build that kept both of them at the limits of their restraint. She was clutching at him, pulling him in deeper, her lips and teeth fastening on any piece of his flesh she could reach.

His arms were two long chords of muscle, his hair a dark curtain that just brushed her face. He was naked, sliding against her, crushing her, answering a question she hadn't known to ask. They were locked together, building, moving. There was no time, no thought, just their two bodies mating. Wild, elemental, basic.

The rhythm built until she felt her body begin to crest. His eyes still locked with hers, she felt him slide a single hand between their slick bodies. Those long fingers swirled over her, pushing her over the edge. She called his name in one low, long, guttoral moan.

With her climax, his stroke lost its even rhythm. She was just coming back into herself, when Hermione saw his eyes blur, his head fall back, and heard his triumphant shout of release.

They lay there, panting, covered in each other's sweat, waiting for their breath to normalize and their bodies to break intimate contact. Hermione began laughing throatily as soon as her breath allowed for it.

"My gods, man, where did you learn to do that?"

Severus Snape, his brain having reestablished what was, at best, a tenuous control over his traitorous body, opened his eyes to quarter mast, "At one time, I found the female body to be a fascinating subject. It seemed a fitting topic to study."

Hermione smiled, and ran a single finger down the scarred plane of his back. "I'll bet. You always have been a formidable scholar. Some day, I should like to look at your textbooks."

Snape closed his eyes and sighed. "Miss Granger, do you always insist on speaking just after intercourse? Because I would truly prefer not to."

Hermione was too content to be bothered. "No. Usually I like to snuggle down under the covers and nap for a while. But," she pointed to the rug, "alas, no covers."

Snape kept his eyes closed and grunted. "By all means…there is a bed with covers through there." He waved vaguely in the direction of the main hallway."

Hermione tried to stand, then gave up. "hmmm…too bad. Legs don't seem to be working right now. Guess we'll have to chit chat!"

Snape moaned, and opened a single bleary eye. "Please, Miss Granger, I beg of you!"

Hermione chuckled. Guess that was enough lover-tormenting for one day. She summoned the coverlet from off of his bed, a soft cotton blanket that seemed very old. She threw it over both of them, being careful to protect Snape's naked backside from the chill air. After all, she really liked that backside.

From his breathing, she could tell that he had already drifted off. She wiped his sweat soaked hair from his forehead, smoothed a hand gently over his face. So different in sleep. So peaceful. She kissed him gently on his red, swollen lips. "Go ahead and sleep, Severus. You've certainly earned it."

Hermione snuggled down next to him and sighed a deep sound of satisfaction. When she'd arrived here tonight, she'd been focused upon having a baby, hoping she'd get pregnant right away. Now, she realized, she hoped that it wouldn't happen too soon after all. With that thought, and another contented sigh, she followed him into dreams.

End Chapter Six

AN: Hope you enjoyed your lemons, you naughty bunch!

Thank you, as always for reading.

Saturday is my daughter's birthday, so I won't post another chapter then. If all goes well, I'll see you all on Sunday!


	7. Afterglow

Patrimony

Chapter 7: Afterglow

Hermione awoke, alone, in the vast lake of Snape's four-poster bed. They'd made it there, barely, after Snape began his second assault on her body, and before Hermione had paid him back in kind this morning.

Then, there was the delightful argument they had, about how Snape didn't consider fellatio as a viable option within the terms of their contract. After all, it did not further their chances of conception. She'd countered that, strictly speaking, they had already exceeded the minimum requirement of once a day, and that any further sexual activity would be considered discretionary. Of course, he was Severus Snape, so he'd had to try to win the debate. He'd set his jaw, and launched into an utterly unnecessary lecture on the mechanics of conception. Hermione simply rolled her eyes, leaned forward, and took him into her mouth. That had silenced further argument.

Hermione stretched her naked, well-used body against the rumpled sheets. Amazing. The whole thing was amazing. The sex, the arguments, the exhausted, entwined slumber. Most amazing of all, she was now officially Snape's lover. She chuckled to herself. Wasn't life a strange and mysterious thing?

As was his morning habit, Severus Snape stood in front of his library windows, drinking a veritable cauldron of black tea. On a normal day, he would follow his tea with a moderate run, followed by an hour's Kata practice, all before the dunderheads began to stir in their warm little beds.

But not today. Today he had spent the whole of the morning in bed with a naked witch. A witch with whom he'd spent most of the night wrestling. It was now past noon. A deplorable lack of discipline. Thankfully, it was a Sunday, and he had no commitments until the afternoon patrol. However, if he remembered an early morning conversation correctly, Miss Granger was now late for a scheduled engagement.

Snape was not only unsettled by how time had escaped them, but he was also somewhat chagrined by how enthusiastically he performed his duty last night, and again last night, and again this morning. Had she not responded with such exuberance, he might have chided himself for lack of finesse. However, Miss Granger had left him with no doubts as to her satisfaction with the exercise. Thus, he determined not to let his slip worry him. He wasn't getting soft. Still, the war had been over for a decade, he was entitled to make some… adjustments.

There was, however, the matter of the marks he'd left on her body. It was adolescent, and unconscionable. He was mortified to recall, albeit vaguely, how strongly he'd felt the instinct to mark her, claim her as his own, make her his. He shuddered. How very…primitive. And utterly unlike him.

At any rate, at least he could fix the evidence. He'd altered a healing draught, adjusted it so it wouldn't harm anything should they happen to have conceived last night. He set the brew to wait by the side of Miss Granger's cup.

As if summoned by this thoughts, Miss Granger appeared in the doorway, disheveled, and wearing one of his cotton tunics. She yawned, and shuffled over to hug him. "I hope you don't mind about the tunic. I think you divesto'd my shirt into nothingness last night. I'll bring this back to you tonight. Oooh. Coffee!" Before he could readjust her expectations, she had lunged over to her cup. Her face fell when she looked inside. "Tea? Who drinks tea in the morning? Well, you, apparently. I should have known." She noted the small vial beside the cup. "What's this?"

"A mild restorative, with a healing draught. I enhanced it to take care of those, uh, marks."

"Marks? What mar…?" Her eyes widened and her mouth fell into an "O." "Severus Snape did you mark me? Did you give me a hickey?" She ran into the bathroom. Snape heard her screech from his place in the living room.

"You did! You hickey'd me all over the place!"

Snape cringed.

"I'm not proud of the fact. This potion will remove them."

Hermione emerged from the bathroom, chortling. "What if I don't want to take the potion? What if I want to keep them? What if I'm fond of them?"

Snape looked horrified.

Hermione laughed even harder. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" She threw back the potion, took a dubious sip from her teacup, and grabbed her purse.

"Thank you for a wonderful first evening together." She wand-waved herself tidy, gave Snape a kiss on the cheek, and rushed for the door. "Oh, and when I see you tonight I'll be bringing coffee."

As the door closed behind her, Snape looked utterly bemused. That woman was utterly maddening. What on earth had he gotten himself into?

End Chapter Seven

AN: Once again, I thank each and every one of you who have provided feedback. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun with a bunch of "imaginary friends"!


	8. Intermezzo

Patrimony

Chapter 8: Intermezzo

_Excerpts from the correspondence of Severus Snape and Hermione Granger, as delivered via owl._

Miss H. Granger,

I am writing to inquire about your health. Please contact me with an update on our project status.

--S.Snape

Severus,

I am well, but sorry to tell you that I am most assuredly not pregnant.

Hermione

Miss Granger,

To have accomplished our goal on first attempt would have been highly statistically unlikely.

--S. Snape

Severus,

You're right, of course. But I was disappointed nonetheless. I'm better now, though. How are you?

Hermione

Miss Granger,

I am well. You'll be interested to know that I am once again missing boomslang skin from my personal stores. I found myself thinking of you and your wretched friends.

--S. Snape

Severus,

If you're referring to the unfortunate Polyjuice fiasco, I assure you that I've quite learned my lesson. Haven't had a drop of the stuff since war's end.

Hermione

PS: Check out the girl's lavatory on the 2nd floor. It's the best place to whip up Polyjuice potion.

Miss Granger,

Thank you for the information. I did indeed apprehend the miscreants in the 2nd floor lavatory.

--S. Snape

Severus

So, I guessed correctly, did I? What's my prize?

Hermione

Miss Granger,

I had no idea that a prize was required. What do you suggest?

--S. Snape

Severus,

Pastries for breakfast.

Hermione

Severus Snape fondled the small scrap of parchment before slipping it into his pocket with the others. To tell the truth, he'd been enjoying the bizarre little correspondence with Miss Granger. Every lunchtime, her tawny owl would appear outside of his classroom, a small scrap clutched in its beak. Every afternoon, his own great horned would soar off with his reply. He put his quill to the parchment.

Miss Granger,

Done.

--S. Snape

Tomorrow the lady herself would come for her second monthly visit. If he was honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he was actually looking forward to her visit. And she wanted pastries, did she? Well, he'd show her a pastry or two. For the most part, skill with potions translated into skill with baking. And he was very, very skilled. His chocolate croissants, stuffed with chocolate he'd rendered himself from cocoa beans, had often made Dumbledore cry with joy. Snape had used them as necessary to gain compliance in small matters of disagreement between them. He'd often suspected the contrary old man of creating conflict specifically so he could earn one of Severus' pastries. It had been years since he'd made them, but he still had the entire recipe memorized. He would have no problem satisfying Miss Granger's sweet tooth.

In fact, he'd enjoy making her beg for more.

With that, Snape ripped the bit of parchment from the scroll, and set off to deliver it. At least one never had to worry about losing one's fitness when on had Hogwarts interminable staircases to deal with. A jaunt to the owlry was a workout in and of itself.

On the way there, he startled two Slytherins locked in an awkward amorous embrace. There was so much saliva on the girl's face that she looked like she had just emerged from the black lake. Ugh. Teenagers were repulsive creatures. No wonder his sex drive had gone dormant. He wrapped both of them smartly on the head, not for being caught snogging, but rather for having hidden their tryst so poorly. They were supposed to be Slytherins, after all. He briefly considered regaling Miss Granger with the incident, but thought the better of it. He needn't share every detail of his life just because he was sharing a bed with the witch.

Disgusting teenagers aside, he could hardly claim a dormant libido at present. Not a day had passed since last month's tryst that he hadn't been confronted with some fantasy or other featuring Miss Granger en flagrante. It was distracting and annoying at best. A Flaccidous potion took care of the physical distraction, but did nothing to address the issues with his mind, which seemed to have gone on a nostalgic tour of adolescence. As if one journey through that particular hell was not enough.

Well, Miss Granger would be here soon enough. He had better begin to render his chocolate.

Miss Granger, for her part, acknowledged the increase in her libido with a bit more aplomb. She handled her hormones the old fashioned way: with her fingers and the occasional aid of her shower nozzle. She found it interesting to discover that her old stand-bye fantasies no longer worked. Not the handsome-pirate-sneaking-in-through-the-window, nor the slumber-party-at-Ginny's; not even the never-fail stranger-on-the-underground. But cast any of these roles with a certain enigmatic potions-master, and she was off to the races.

She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. After all, he'd given her some amazing sex, and he had that whole "forbidden fruit" thing going for him in her head. He'd been her teacher for 7 years; the idea that she was trying to conceive a child with him was still a little startling. Whatever he was, he was delicious, and Hermione couldn't wait to have another bite of him.

A light tap on her window brought a smile to Hermione's face. 2pm. It must be Architeuthis, Snape's great horned owl. Hermione let him in, and carefully snatched the parchment from Archie's beak. He had a wicked bite.

Hermione smiled at the one-word response. It amused her to see that he still insisted on calling her "Miss Granger." The man was so unbelievably prickly. It made her want to poke at his defenses something fierce. But she resisted, for the moment. If he needed to maintain the appearance of formality, even as they were shagging each other silly, then she'd let him get away with it…for now.

She reached into her own owl's food supply, and tossed Archie a white mouse, which he caught deftly and downed in one gulp. Funny, how shocked and dismayed she would have felt about such a thing when she was younger. Now, having seen what she'd seen, and done what she'd done, she simply accepted that nature was casually brutal. It didn't make the owl evil, or the mouse a victim. It simply was.

On the grand scale of things, Hermione considered feeding live mice to be a cleaner, more responsible practice than paying someone else minimum wage to grind substandard mouse parts into a sanitary-looking kibble. To her mind, if you were going to keep a carnivorous bird in your life, you should have the balls to keep it right.

As she watched Archie fly away, it occurred to Hermione that she was keeping a very carnivorous bird in her life in the person of Severus Snape. He might only be in her life a short time, but she intended to do right by him. Her instincts told her that he hadn't been treated kindly by life. And yet, he was nobody's victim: brave, forthright, albeit sneaky, he was no more evil than the owl was. He was who he was. It was that simple.

And for the moment, he also happened to be hers…a fact of which Hermione planned to take full advantage.

End Chapter 8

AN: To the unsigned reader who left me the plaintive review…I promise I won't abandon you all! I feel all "bonded" to my readers now…like we're all on a trip together, waiting to find out where this leads. So, I'm here till this story's through. I promise. –The0lyn


	9. Intimacy Issues

Patrimony

Chapter Nine

The man was impossible. He whipsawed between being an excellent companion and being an unpleasant, suspicious crab. He was capable of extreme acts of kindness. Gods knew how much time he spent making those unbearably good croissants for her. But if she should get too close, acknowledge their growing intimacy, he retreated faster than the tide in the Bay of Fundie.

And if he was the one to slip up, if he was the one to be a tiny bit vulnerable, share some bit of himself he'd rather have hidden, he became as unpleasant as a toddler in a tantrum.

They'd been sprawled in bed, her head on his shoulder, his hand lazily stroking her thigh, as she'd reminisced about life with muggle parents. All of the sudden, like a gift, he'd begun to speak about his childhood. The darkness in his home. His father's extreme temper. His mother's inability, or unwillingness to interfere when that temper found its target on a young Severus. He told it without emotion, in a matter of fact way. Hermione held the moment like a jewel in her hand. A moment of trust and friendship. She hadn't offered sympathy; she knew him too well for that, simply listened, present. She kept her face neutral, even though inside she wanted to cry for that poor lost child.

Afterwards, he'd been distant, then he'd been surly, and now he'd become downright unpleasant. He was pacing his rooms like a caged cat, glaring at her.

"Miss Granger." He'd said prissily, as if he hadn't just had her body writhing beneath his, "Don't you have anything better to do with your time than while it away, reading on my sofa?"

It was the first time he'd been truly nasty since they'd begun this project together. Later, upon reflection, she'd realize that the surprise wasn't that he'd been sarcastic with her, but that it had taken him so long to be so. It was, after all, his most effective protective mechanism.

But at that moment, her only thought was that she must establish a behavioral boundary here. She'd stand up to him, or lose the even footing upon which they'd been building their relationship.

So, though his words stung, she turned on him, mimicking his acerbic tone.

"If you'd like some privacy, Severus, you may ask for it, and I'll gladly read elsewhere. But if you insist on being a rude git, you'll find that I become considerably less amenable. Treat me like an annoyance, you'll find out just how annoying I can be. I'd advise you to be careful about your next word choice."

Severus stood, his mouth gaping. Whatever he saw in her face must have shaken him, for he shouted, threw up his hands in frustration, and stormed out the room.

Her equanimity restored, Hermione settled down with her book and another croissant.

xxxxxxxxx

Snape stalked from the castle. Why had he told her that story about his childhood? These days he had as little control over his mind as one of the dunderheads. He was forever thinking strange things, telling strange stories, behaving in ways that were most certainly not him. His discipline seemed to be slipping away. He felt naked, raw, exposed.

He wanted to fly away. He'd never been comfortable on a broom, much to his teenaged chagrin. But he'd learned the forbidden Locomordres spell at age 16, and since then, flight had always been available to him. It was an amazing feeling, becoming a puff of air, dissolving in a curtain of rapid flight. Unfortunately, to use it now would have been unwise. Since Dumbledore's death, the castle had become rather sensitive to the use of any spell on the dark end of spectrum. Last time he'd used Locomordres, it had thrown up a wall right in the middle of the south lawn, smacking him from the air rather unceremoniously.

Not that he actually believed that Locomordres was an evil spell. It was astoundingly difficult, but that should have no bearing on the lightness or darkness of the thing. He believed it was simply a matter of sympathetic magic...the population perceived the spell as dark, and the magic responded. What, he wondered, would Miss Granger have to say about the phenomenon? She new an astounding amount of mysti-genisis theory, she might have some insight...what was he doing? He'd come out here to get away from her, not to consult her on magic esoterica.

Frustrated, he waved his wand, exchanging his robes for a set of sweatpants and trainers. If he couldn't fly, he'd run.

Severus Snape didn't think about why he was running, what he was running from. He just pounded down the lakeside path. He didn't dwell on the fact that he'd just told another human being something he'd planned on carrying to his grave unspoken. He just ran. Step, step, exhale. Step, step, inhale. An even, punishing lope that rapidly carried him away from the castle. It took him several miles to begin to calm. But the calm eventually came. Slowly, his unease drained from his body like the sweat pouring off him. Until finally, he couldn't quite put his finger on what had upset him so to begin with.

At length, when his body was exhausted, he determined it was time to return to his suite. He could not put off this confrontation any longer. If Miss Granger was still in an uproar, and decided she wanted to cancel the contract, he would simply refuse. He girded himself for battle.

xxxxxxxxxx

When he returned to his quarters, he found Miss Granger happily perusing one of his rarer spellbooks. She didn't even look up when he walked in.

"Oh, Professor, good. I've been dying to talk to you about this Cephlapodia spell. What do you know about its origins? It's really fascinating. I've never seen anything like it."

He walked over and looked over her shoulder.

"Yes, it is fascinating, isn't it? I first purchased that book from a Romney trader when I was 22 years old. He claimed it to be an old family tome, but I certainly couldn't attest to that."

Severus forgot that his clothes were drenched in sweat, forgot his misgivings about their conversation, forgot that he was supposed to be angry with Miss Granger for being in his space. Instead, he fell into a lively discussion of the legendary squid spell with a mind as agile and brilliant of his own. The discussion, which went on for some time, was as satisfying as it was esoteric, leaving them both quite pleased.

And when Miss Granger insisted on helping him shower off after his run, well, that left them both pleased as well.

End of Chapter Nine

AN: Thank you so much for reading! Theolyn


	10. Positive

Patrimony

Chapter 10

Miss Granger,

You did not respond to my last missive. I trust that you are well?

--S. Snape

Severus,

I am well, thank you, but tired. I'm deep in a project for work. It's due soon, and I have been working long hours. Forgive me.

Hermione

Miss Granger,

There is nothing to forgive. I am enclosing two potions: a restorative, and a mild sleep enhancer that will enable you to gain more rest with fewer hours. Both have been altered to suit our project. Please take them; your health is paramount.

--S. Snape

Severus,

Thank you for the potions, they did help. But they're no substitute for finishing. If I focus, I should finish in 3 days.

Hermione

Miss Granger,

You did not mention if you had menstruated this month or not...may I inquire?

--S. Snape

Severus,

No I haven't, but that's not unusual when I'm this stressed.

Hermione

Miss Granger,

Perhaps you might test yourself for early pregnancy? A simple Reveglio spell should be adequate.

--S. Snape

Severus,

Sorry. I can't handle the test right now. I'm too busy. I will test as soon as things calm down.

Hermione

Snape scowled at the scrap of parchment in his hand. Too busy for a simple spell? The spell would take seconds. Furthermore, it disturbed him that Miss Granger's communiques had been bereft of her usual humor. The terseness of her writing would have been fine for him, but for her, it was entirely out of character...too tense, by far. It was obvious that Miss Granger was not well. And her well being was his responsibility.

There was nothing for it. He would go to Miss Granger after his afternoon classes, and see for himself. He would ensure that she was adequately cared for. And he would check upon the status of their project. He'd perform the spell himself, if need be.

xxxx

The tidy little cottage sat amid a riotous garden. Its whitewashed walls were a perfect contrast to the emerald green of the surrounding countryside. On the whole, Snape found it to be a handsome dwelling, albeit a bit feminine with its red door and profusion of flowers. But as he approached, he noticed in approval that many of the plants were useful. And while some of the specimens, were common, datura and lavender, verbena and sage, some were not. Mature mandrakes, frog thistle, fairy's mote...nicely established, too. He'd have to see if he could get a cutting of that one. It was notoriously difficult to cultivate, but added great punch to strength-enhancing potions.

He took a step closer to the cottage, and felt a nasty tingle against his skin. A step further and it became most unpleasant. Another step and it was downright painful. He had no doubt that, had he stepped further, he would have been in serious trouble. Apparently the second circle of plantings doubled as a rather surprisingly strong ward. Snape grunted in approval. Marvelously clever. The witch was very, very skilled. And subtle, too. Normal wards were so obvious that a marauding wizard would have ample opportunity to prepare and avoid them. By disguising them, she'd not only strengthened her defenses, but also bought herself valuable time in the event of an attack. It was good to see that she took her safety seriously.

He retreated to the garden gate, and pulled the bell there. Nothing. He could infer from the steady stream of smoke through the chimney that she was at home...she was hardly the type to leave a fire burning unattended. He pulled the bell again, and this time a disheveled Miss Granger appeared at the door. She squinted into the afternoon sunlight, raised a hand as a visor, and smiled. She waved her wand to disengage her wards, and gestured him to follow her inside. Even from a distance, he could see that she'd lost weight since the last time he saw her. Her eyes were bruised, and she looked thin and worn. Snape had to bite down on a surge of concern.

"I suppose I should have known you would come after," she yawned widely, "I'm sorry. I meant after my last letter. I was going to write again, once my project was over. But then I got here, and I just fell asleep. I've been dozing for a couple of hours now."

She gestured to the sofa behind her, which still held the imprint of her body.

"Good," said Snape. "It's patently obvious that you need sleep. And also obvious that you have been neglecting yourself. And that is not something I take lightly. One would think a woman grown would be better able to take care of herself."

She was too tired to take offense, "I know, I know. I'll work on that. I suppose you took great care of yourself while you were concocting the Amas Veritas?"

Snape gritted his teeth. The more he saw how tired she was, the angrier he became. "That was different. I was not trying to conceive a child. Which brings me to the purpose for this visit. Have you performed the reveglio yet?"

Hermione looked chagrined. "No. All I've had energy for is sleeping." She sighed. "And I suppose I've been putting it off. I just don't want to be disappointed again. I'd rather not know. But I know it should be done. Severus, could you, I mean, would you, please? Perform the spell for me?"

Years later, he would remember this moment with particular clarity. Her uncertain, hollow eyes. The warm, cozy room. The glimmering fire. The smell of drying herbs and burning peat. The sound of his wand as he pulled it free from his woolen robe. The unfamiliar skittering in his belly as he uttered "Reveglio."

And then, the nimbus of light, around Miss Granger's tawny owl, his own hand, her tired, worn face. And there, glowing like a tiny pinprick of a star, the life of his child, emanating from Miss Granger's womb. Small, tender, pulsing with life. Hermione looked at his face, opened her own mouth in shock, looked down at her belly, looked back up at Severus...and burst into tears.

Had a flaming dragon burst into the room, Snape would have been less discomfited. His first instinct was to back away, as surely, any sane man would have done. But instead, he moved forward, scooping Miss Granger up and into his arms. He carried her, in her small fetal ball, to the nearest armchair, where he settled her onto his lap.

He'd often stroked magical creatures when they were in distress. He supposed the same principal applied here. So he found himself smoothing her hair with his long fingers, murmuring nonsense words, holding her tightly against the warmth of his body.

"Miss Granger, I thought you wanted this child." He said, in his sonorous voice.

From deep inside his shirt he heard her muffled reply, "I do. Very much."

Some deep instinct told him to let it alone, not to say anything further. But curiosity won over instinct.

"So why aren't you happy?"

"I, I" she sniffed, "I am happy!" she howled with renewed vigor.

Snape tried to digest this, but he was quite busy trying to cope with another new development. Apparently, that traitorous body of his had some inappropriate intentions towards the warm, weeping witch in his lap. He was doing his very best to calm his raging erection, but was succeeding only in bringing it to half-mast. Miss Granger was clearly having some sort of psychotic break, and now was not the time for him to be fantasizing about ripping off her sweatshirt and shorts. But as far as his penis was concerned, it had been a very long 17 days (not that he was counting) since the last time it had been so close to such tempting softness.

He shifted in his seat, trying not to press his erection against Miss Granger's flesh. However, even through her hormonal, sleep-deprived haze, Hermione noticed his movements. It was enough to break her out of her emotional spiral, and bring a throaty chuckle to her lips. She excavated her face from Snape's now wet chest, stripped off her sweatshirt, and used it to mop the wetness from her face.

When she'd taken off her shirt, she'd revealed a thin cotton camisole. It wasn't pretty, but the flesh it revealed was, and Snape thought it a marvelous item of clothing. Hermione watched his expression change, his eyes darken, desire written all over his face. She took a hand to either side of his face, and moved so that his erection was pressed exactly where she wanted it.

"We're making a baby, Severus."

"Yes, Miss Granger, it appears so."

When she leaned in to kiss him, Snape noticed something strange, a vague sense of alarm from his subconscious. His rapidly fogging brain couldn't think of why that might be the case; it wasn't like he hadn't kissed Miss Granger a thousand times before. And frankly, with his lap full of soft, willing witch, he didn't care. His subconscious could go straight to hell, as far as he was concerned.

It wasn't until much, much later, when the two of them were snuggled into Hermione's little bed, that he realized that for the first time, they'd come together with no objective in mind beyond pleasing themselves, and each other. That must be significant. But the bed was so warm and soft. Thinking about this could wait till later.

End Chapter 10

AN: So, I know that the books say that there are no symptoms of early pregnancy, but my emotional radar got out of whack a good week before my tests came back positive. So we're going to assume that Hermione is a hormonal freak like me.

Thanks to everyone for reading! Theolyn.


	11. Unwellness

Patrimony

Chapter 11

Hermione had never been so wretchedly ill in her life. She lay her face against the cool, white porcelain. She wouldn't throw up this time, she wouldn't. Morning Sickness. Right. What idiot came up with that name? More like all-day-and-most-of-the-night-sickness.

It wasn't even the vomiting that was getting to her, although there's nothing like seeing the meal you ate hours before return looking just as it did when you ate it. (She knew the digestive process slowed in pregnancy, so her body could absorb additional nutrients...but this was ridiculous.)

It wasn't the nausea, or the intermittent, horrific, paint-blistering gas, or even the incessant need for the loo. (Gods, it was barely the size of a peanut; what was she going to do when she had a 7-pounder sitting on her bladder? Set up her office in her bathroom?)

No, it wasn't any of those things that was getting to her. It was the general sense of unwellness. It was constant. Her brain understood the reason for it, how her immune system was being suppressed so that her body wouldn't reject the fetus. So she was grateful for it on a certain level...or she tried to be, anyway. She just always felt off, bad, dog tired.

She suspected that the unwellness was starting to get to Severus, too. Ever since she'd given him the key to her wards, he'd taken to apparating two or three times a day. Despite the mediwitch's assertion that there was nothing magical to be done, he remained unconvinced. He was perpetually plying her with potions and tonics. When she'd begun vomiting them up, he'd switched to pomades, seeking a vehicle that might carry the magic in through her skin.

It made her smell pleasant, like a walking herb garden, which was a plus since she wasn't tolerating many smells these days. But it didn't seem to help the unwellness.

The only thing she could eat with any degree of confidence was bread. Soon, deliveries of fresh pastries were arriving with regularity. Most of them were the work of the Hogwarts house elves; after eating their food for 7 years, she could recognize it with her eyes closed. But at least once a week, she'd get something outrageous, something so good it brought tears to her eyes, and she'd know that Severus had been in the kitchen.

At 10 weeks pregnant, she was at the theoretical peak in her hormone ramp-up. While her hormones would continue to rise, they'd do so at a slower, and more constant rate than previously. Hopefully, her body would compensate, and she would begin to feel better. Until then, she'd continue to keep her toilet bowl scrupulously clean, and she'd make peace with the porcelain as often as needed.

Her face was still pressed against the toilet when Snape strode in.

Seeing her there, green, shivering, alone made him furious. Hadn't her last owl assured him that she was feeling better? How was he to get anything done if he couldn't rely on her to tell him how she was really feeling?

He looked down on her imperiously, and she waved a weary hand in salute.

"So, Miss Granger, feeling better, are we?. "

"Well, I am better, Sev-oh!" And with that , up came the well-balanced lunch she'd been trying to protect. Dammit. She'd really wanted to keep that one down. Snape watched impassively as she flushed, and crept over to the sink for her toothbrush.

"Yes, I can see that you are feeling splendid. A paragon of health and vitality. How, oh how could I have doubted you."

Hermione gave him a nasty glare, and began scrubbing her teeth.

"Look," she said, her mouth full of toothpaste, "I feel like crap, but there's nothing we can do about it, and the mediwitch says I'm healthy as a horse. So deal with it, okay?"

Snape ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Miss Granger. Until I can find the cure for your sickness, I need to know that you and the child are okay. Having you all the way out here, suffering silently, all alone, is making it very hard for me to concentrate. I really wish you would consent to move to the castle for the duration of your pregnancy."

Hermione gaped at him, her toothbrush dangling like a forgotten cigarette from her mouth. "You're serious?"

Snape began pacing back and forth within the confines of her restroom. It made the room feel even smaller to have his hulking black robes swirling around. "Miss Granger, I would assume that by know you would know that I am not well known for my humor. I'm very, very serious. It's the only way. I'm not getting anything done. I'm either here, or thinking of coming here, or wondering if I should be here. Since you are on hiatus, and my duties at Hogwarts inflexible, it is only logical that you should come to stay with me."

Hermione blinked and spit out her toothbrush. She carefully wiped her face with a washcloth, and then turned to him. "I should, should I?"

Something in her voice must have clued Snape in, because he began to look visibly nervous. The past few weeks had given him a healthy appreciation for Hermione's temper. "Hermione, please." He rubbed his hands over his face. "Please do this for me."

Maybe it was his using her given name that disarmed her. Or the pleading tone of his voice. Or the fact that he really was starting to look worn down. But she felt herself soften. After all, It was hard to be alone through all this. And she really missed Severus in bed at night, even if she wasn't quite up to their usual calisthenics. Why shouldn't she at least try to see if they could coexist for longer than 5 days in a row?

"Will you apparate here once a week, and check on my garden?"

"I will."

"And pack my things and my books?"

"Yes."

"And find a space for Tawny in the owlery?"

"Yes."

"And tell me when you need space instead of just being a jerk?"

"Yes, yes. yes. I will do whatever needs to be done. Please, Hermione."

Hermione sighed. "Well Okay then. I'll do it."

The look of relief on his face made Hermione feel like a hero. She hadn't realized just how hard this situation had been on him, although in retrospect, she probably should have. He certainly had been trying his very best to take care of her, even at a distance.

"Severus, I can't apparate. And I hate riding brooms."

"There's a thestral tied to your rowan tree."

Hermione shuddered. "Sure of yourself, are you?"

"Not sure, Miss Granger. Hopeful."

Hopeful. That was a word she'd never thought to hear Severus apply to himself. Even in her contentious mood, she really liked the sound of it.

END Chapter 11

AN: So, H and S are moving in...progress! And poor Hermione. I so know how she feels! (Writing: great way of working out your own issues by inflicting them on other people. Heh!)

Thanks again for sticking with the story, my imaginary friends! I have a busy weekend coming up; I may get one more post in before then, otherwise, it may be Monday before the next update. So don't worry; I am not abandoning! The end is getting close...I can smell it!


	12. First Glimpse

Patrimony

Chapter 12

Severus Snape strode into his apartment. Hermione, practicing a devilishly tricky charm to finesse water from the air's humidity, didn't even look up. Normally, Snape would have understood, and lauded such concentration, but this time Snape wanted her attention...and he wanted it now. So he strode between Hermione, and her fragile floating water globules, causing the entire lot to splat onto the carpet. Hermione growled in frustration.

"Severus, I was right on the edge of a breakthrough!"

"As was I, Miss Granger. And now I've broken through. I've done it. I know how to address your morning sickness."

Hermione stuck out a hand, and he dutifully plopped a small round container of lotion into it. She hoped this would work. She was almost halfway into her pregnancy, and still her unwellness continued. The mediwitch told her everything was okay, she was simply one of those unfortunate women whose body didn't reach peace with pregnancy at the end of the first trimester. Though she vomited less often, the nagging feeling of tiredness and mild nausea was ever-present. That is, until she spread the cream on her hands and arms. The magic was instant, a warm flowing wave of wellness inundating her being. Hermione burst into tears of gratitude.

"It works!" she wailed.

Six weeks ago, the tears would have sent Snape into frantic indecision. Now, they were as normal to him as Hermione's charm work or her pastry-fetish. He saw them as what they were, tears of relief, and as such, was well pleased. He tucked her into his body, and let her tears flow until their end. When, at last they stilled, she looked at him with a brilliant smile on her face.

"Oh, gods, Severus, you are going to be a very popular man!"

Snape smiled, a small smile, creaky as an unoiled door, but a smile nonetheless. "Rightfully so, Miss Granger. Let's see what your mediwitch has to say about it now! "

Hermione snorted. Senora Ana's pronouncements on the impossibility of a magical morning sickness cure had always rankled him. "So, how on earth did you do it?"

"Well, something you said yesterday about evolution made me I realize why I was failing. Morning sickness evolved as a way for the body to guide the woman away from harmful eating, undereating, and overexertion. Every time I tried to thwart the process, your very dna would rally to neutralize the magic. So I decided to swtich tactics, and help your body to communicate the issues. If you eat something it finds harmful, it will give you a warning; your hands will turn red. Continue eating, and the body will do what it needs to. If you overtire yourself, your hands will turn blue...if you do not rest quickly, the illness will return. Fail to eat enough, and your hands will turn yellow. Respond and you will be fine. Ignore the warning, and you will again get ill. The magic in this cream gives your body another avenue of communication. It takes evolution one step better. And thus, your symptoms are alleviated."

Hermione skipped over to him, kissed him hard on the lips. "You..." she kissed him again, softer, "...are a brilliant man." One more kiss, this one so soft he could barely feel it. "Thank you."

Snape opened his dark, fathomless eyes, which had drifted closed during the last of the 3 kisses, "You...are most welcome."

xxxx

While the prenatal care she got at the hands of the Mediwitch and Severus far surpassed the care a muggle woman would have enjoyed, there was no magical imaging technology. If she wanted to see the baby, and determine its sex, then muggle was the way to go. Hermione was determined to get an ultrasound.

Severus, naturally suspicious of anything muggle in nature, had his doubts about the process. But all it took was suggesting that he stay home for this appointment, and he became determined to attend. Reverse psychology. Worked on equally well on children and potions-masters.

Walking with Snape through muggle London was an experience. They reached the building in question without incident, although there was the near miss when Severus mistook the red hand sign in a crosswalk for a symbol of dark sorcery, and almost wanded it out existence. Otherwise, it had been a lot like walking through town with her boyfriend...her monochoromatic, anacronistic, pouting boyfriend...but her boyfriend nonetheless.

She found him particularly attractive in his black slacks, white shirt, and black sweater. It had taken a great deal of persuasion, cool logic, and finally a sexual act that may have been considered illegal in some areas to get him into them. But she'd done it. And he looked wonderful. Unfortunately, even attired in his favorite color, it was plain that Severus was entirely uncomfortable. He kept tugging at his collar and cuffs miserably.

"Don't worry Severus, you still look evil and scary."

"I do not seek to look evil and scary, Miss Granger." This was said reflexively, but after a moment he turned to her and said, "Do I normally look evil and scary?"

Hermione swallowed her smile and nodded. He didn't smile, but couldn't keep the pleased look from his eyes. It died as they walked in through the clinic door.

"Miss Granger. You do not have to do this. Let us avoid this barbarism, and catch the 4pm Express home."

"Nice try, Severus. And could you pretend to call me Hermione for the duration of this appointment? Having the father of my child call me Miss Anything is too weird for muggle wellbeing."

He sighed, "Very well, Hermione."

There was, of course the wait. While she was perfectly happy to peruse a tabloid magazine, he huffed and sighed as if being subjected to mild torture. She'd seen him wait stilly and silently for hours at home, with no impatience. But here, he was unable, or, she thought more likely, unwilling to be so meditative. First, there was his refusal to sit, because the only seat available would have placed his back to the door. Second, she had to restrain him from offering his morning sickness cure to the two green women in the corner. He'd become downright compassionate towards pregnant women of late, and he greatly resented her assertion that curing the lot of them would result in unnecessary attention. And finally, he'd taken to staring at her a lot, a habit she'd found at first endearing, then disconcerting, and now downright annoying.

When the nurse called her name, Hermione almost wept with gratitude. Not that weeping was at all out of the ordinary these days, but still. They were shuffled into a cheerful examination with a padded platform, and a large humming machine in the corner. Snape backed away from it as if it were a basilisk with a bad attitude. An efficient young woman came in, greeted "Mr. and Mrs Granger" (Hermione didn't bother to correct her, although Severus' eyebrows went up into his hairline.) She had Hermione lie back, lift her shirt, and proceeded to squirt a cold, clear goo onto her stomach. The jelly's temperature made Hermione start, which of course upset Severus, who in an instant had his wand at the ready. It took Hermione several minutes to get him calmed down, his wand put away, and the technician's memory suitably altered. But once that was accomplished, they could procede. Then the sensor was pressed to her abdomen, the moment came into quiet focus.

"Here is your baby."

Severus' mouth gaped open. He'd seen pictures of what an ultrasound was supposed to look like; Hermione had wanted to make sure that he didn't think she was carrying an alien inside of her. But he hadn't been prepared that his child would seem so very...alive to him. He hadn't been prepared to watch that fluttering heart, and feel an answering flutter in his stomach, see the baby show a profile then a little round butt, then a giant dome of a head. It was, quite frankly, the most marvelous thing he'd ever seen.

He looked at Hermione, and was surprised to find her watching, not with tears in her eyes, but with a calm, knowing smile on her face. Like she had had confirmed a fact she had always suspected, but which had to this point remained unproven. For the first time, she looked to his eyes, not like a woman ripe with child, but like a mother. Then Hermione turned her eyes from the screen, and caught his. Her expression didn't change. And his stomach once again filled with flutters, just as it had when he first saw his child's heart a moment ago.

"So, do you want to know the sex, or do you want to be surprised?"

Hermione looked at him, and took in his careful nod. She turned back to the technician.

"We think more information is better. We'd like to know please."

The technician was still a bit relaxed from her recent memory alteration, so she smiled a bit woozily as she pointed out the baby's genital area. "Well, Mr. and Mrs Granger, here's your money shot. As you can see, you are definitely having a baby girl."

At this, Hermione broke out into the previously expected tears. And if Severus teared up a bit too, there was no one but the recently-obliviated technician to see it.

End Chapter 12

AN: It's good to be back at the keyboard. I missed you guys! Thanks for reviewing, Theolyn.

PS: to the reviewer who questioned the "handfasting" reference, my understanding is that handfasting was a traditional one-year trial marriage in the older Celtic cultures. It was a way of trying someone out without being stuck in marriage should the two of you prove infertile together. So that part seems to fit. Furthermore, it doesn't seem as if illegitimacy is something that would be easily accepted in the wizarding world. Particularly since Snape wants an heir, it would be important for their union to have some kind of social validation. A handfasting seemed like a great idea to me. And yes, I did do Ren Faire in my teens/early twenties...don't hold it against me! :-)


	13. Harmony

Patrimony

Chapter Thirteen

Though they were both scrupulously careful about respecting each other's privacy, there were days, like this one, when the harmony between them was so great that they couldn't help but spend large blocks of time in one another's company.

This morning, when Severus awakened at dawn for his habitual tea and exercise, Hermione woke with him. As the end of her pregnancy neared, she'd begun to sleep fitfully, if at all, and she was grateful for the excuse to get out of bed. They'd moved silently, mugs in hand, down the long corridor, neither aware of Severus other hand supportively cupping the small of Hermione's back. Another habit they'd formed without noticing.

They reached the Room of Requirement, already perfectly formed to meet their needs. One side was devoted to a serene martial arts room, the other half, a light, airy yoga studio, complete with a heated floor and a cushy mat in Hermione's favorite shade of burnt orange.

There was little enough she could do physically these days, with the bulk of her body dedicated to harboring their daughter. But she did what she could, simple asanas that couldn't be classified as exercises, but did alleviate the worst of her restless-sleep-induced aches and pains.

After a while, she began to droop, and the room of requirement rather pointedly manifested a wide chaise lounge. Hermione gratefully settled down on it to rest.

She could lie here, watching his practice all day and still be content. Watching him move was like watching a predatory cat. Beautiful, graceful, utterly dangerous. He was stripped to the waist, covered in a light sheen of sweat, covering the floor in deliberate, careful moves, his sword slicing purposefully, like an extension of his will.

Her mouth practically watered at the sight of him. It pleased Hermione immensely that his ardor towards her had not diminished despite her perpetual expansion. He was always gentle now, too gentle if Hermione was honest with herself, but his magnificent brain seemed to have no end of inspiration in devising ways for their bodies to fit together, despite the obvious geometric challenges.

For his part, Snape was having a hard time concentrating on this final form. He was all too aware of Miss Granger, lying in Rubenesque profile on the divan, her eyes smoldering for him. That she wanted him, always wanted him, well there was nothing in creation more attractive. That she also carried his child inside of her roused a level of protectiveness he'd never before known. If someone hurt her, if someone even tried, he doubted that his wand would be used. He'd rip them apart with his bare hands first.

The thought so unsettled him that he lay down his sword and strode across the room.

Snape fell to his knees beside the divan, and began to unwrap Hermione like she was a long-awaited gift. He reveled in each part revealed, her swollen breasts, so sensitive, smelling faintly sweet with milk, so exquisitely responsive to his touch. The translucent skin of her belly, rising and fluttering as he kissed its taut surface. The wondrous cleft between her legs. He licked, nibbled, took tender morsels of flesh between his teeth.

Pregnancy had only heightened her response to him, and so when he inserted two fingers, curling them so they hit her most sensitive spot, she exploded against him. It was a satisfaction that would hardly have been greater with his own release.

At their last meeting, the mediwitch had taken him aside and informed him that as long as Hermione seemed receptive, he should consider sex with his witch an important duty. She went on to reassure him that he needn't be frightened of touching her.

It was all he could do not to scoff out loud. He didn't need some middle aged woman to tell him about Hermione's needs. He understood them, probably better than his own. As for being afraid to touch her, it was perposterous. He had become gentler, a fact which seemed to annoy Miss Granger to no end. He chuckled at this...the woman was magnificent.

And so, when he crawled behind her on the Divan, wrapped his arms around her, and slid into her wetness, he did so with the complete confidence of a man who knows how much he is desired.

xxxxx

When they left the Room of Requirement some time later, Snape looked perfectly calm, as if nothing had happened. Hermione, on the other hand, was flustered and flushed, glowing and disheveled.

"Miss Granger" he muttered, quietly enough that no casual passerby would hear, "You look like a pregnant hussy."

Hermione snorted. "I AM a pregnant hussy, and PLEASE stop calling me Miss Granger. It's ridiculously formal from a man who just had his face buried between my thighs. "

Snape said nothing, just raised a single eyebrow, and deliberately dipped one of his long fingers into his mouth, sucking it dry as if it were covered in honey.

Hermione choked. "You are infuriating, Severus Snape. Absolutely infuriating."

They continued along the hallway, his hand at her back, both entirely content with how the day was going.

End Chapter 13

AN: Lest you think I was all lemoned-out...More smut for you! Enjoy.

Theolyn


	14. Waiting and Walking

Patrimony

Chapter 14

"What do you mean you're not taking any pain potion?"

"I mean...wait, here comes another one." Hermione braced her hands against the wall. In a smooth, practiced motion, Snape came up behind her, and applied counter-pressure to the back of her hips. 45 seconds later, the contraction eased, and Hermione began speaking again.

"I mean, I want to experience the entirety of it, as honestly as I can."

"Oh, so pain draughts are dishonest? I had no idea."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Okay, now you are being deliberately obtuse." She settled back on to the sofa to await the next contraction. "This is one of life's apex experiences. In all likelihood I'm only going to do it once. I don't want to remember bits and pieces of it, or the whole through a haze. I want to remember it all."

"Even if it's excruciatingly painful? My research says the pain of childbirth is quite considerable. Some witches have claimed the pain of "transition" to comparable, or worse than the cruciatus curse. Who would chose to go through that pain willingly?"

If she'd been able to, she would have levered herself up and hugged him. But since getting up would have required his help, she reached for his hand instead. "You."

Severus sputtered. "Yes, but that was unavoidable. Lives, many lives depended upon my endurance. If I could have passed on that cup, believe me, I would have. But you have a choice!"

Hermione stroked his warm hand. "I'm so sorry you didn't get that choice. But one day in labor does not compare with years of regular torture. And in the end, I'll have a beautiful baby girl to show for my suffering. I really want this Severus. So promise me...no pain draughts. Even if I ask for them."

Severus looked into her pleading eyes. If he'd learned one thing in the last 11 months, it was how to tell when Hermione was open to negotiation, and when she was immovable. He sighed. "Fine. No pain draughts, even if you ask."

Hermione went off to the bedroom to rest, and Severus to the lab to convert his pain draught into a cream.

xxxx

Hermione had been in prodromal labor for four days now. Four days. This, coupled with being over a week overdue, was really beginning to grate on her nerves. Every 20 minutes, she'd have a single, painful, 45 second contraction. Never longer, never shorter, never closer together. Sometimes they would stop all together. But after an hour or two, back they would come, particularly any time she tried to get some sleep.

Unfortunately, these contractions were twice as painful when she was horizontal than when she was standing. So, whenever she tried to sleep she was forced to keep moving. She'd lie down, try to rest, and would just be drifting off when she'd feel a contraction begin to build. She'd pop out of bed (not an easy feat at her size) and brace herself against the wall until it would ease. Then, she would collapse back into bed and start the cycle over again. Maddening.

So, she lay in bed, waiting for the next contraction, and wondered, for the thousandth time, what the hell her body was waiting for. She was beginning to suspect that perhaps the reason was Severus. He'd insisted that she and the baby convalesce with him during the entirety of the 2 week laying-in. But they'd never discussed what happened afterwards. Not once.

Hermione pounded a fist against the bed in frustration. She loved the man. She'd figured that out a while ago. And she was 99 certain that he was in love with her. Unfortunately, she was equally certain that he himself was unaware of that fact. Truth be told, she mused to herself, even if love came, announced itself, bit him on the butt, and started feasting on his rear while singing a romantic tune, he'd still be clueless.

So, it was obvious to Hermione that it was up to her to ensure that they ended up together. She was up to the task...she just hadn't figured out the "how."

As she was ruminating on that, she felt the initial tug of yet another contraction, and leapt out of bed. By the time it was grinding its way through her entire lower body, she'd move on to her visualization exercises. This time, remembering in great detail the occaision of their first kiss.

By the time the contraction was over, Hermione had her plan.

xxxxx

Never ever underestimate the power of the mind. Once Hermione had her plan, things began to move. In the following hour, her contractions had lengthened out, and the distance between them had begun to shorten.

She was handling the pain well, but these were definitely stronger, requiring her to breathe deeply and loudly to get through the pain. Severus was handling the escalation a little less well, looming over her like a bird of prey waiting for an animal to gasp its last breath. Cute. But disconcerting, to say the least. Whenever a new contraction would start, he'd leap towards her from wherever he'd been. Hermione was thankful that he was fit, or else he surely would have torn something by now.

Another hour passed. Now, Hermione could no longer sit. The urge to walk was overpowering, and she'd taken to pacing the room, always with Severus no more than a step away from her. At length, he suggested they take to the halls of Hogwarts. School had let out for summer a week ago, Minerva was on Holiday, and sprout was in the gardens, so they had only Filch and the ghosts for company.

And so they walked, stopping every 6 minutes to brace against the wall. The Mediwitch, with her apparation dispensation, popped in to check on their progress. She pronounced herself very pleased indeed.

"You're doing wonderfully, Hermione, honey. Moving right along now. Keep on walking. And send me an owl when these have been 4 minutes apart for an hour.

Snape had done his best to try to intimidate the mediwitch into staying for the duration. She just chortled "First time fathers!" And apparated away.

And so, they walked. His hand at her back, his arms ready to do more, and support her entire weight when she needed it. But she didn't need it. Not yet anyway.

End Chapter 14

AN: All hail Cocoachristy who points out that you aren't my imaginary friends...you're my invisible friends. So, invisible compadres, faithful readers, take some deep cleansing breaths for our couple...they're about to have a baby!! Woo-Hoo!

Theolyn


	15. First Stage

Chapter 15

Patrimony

Childbirth was barbaric.

Severus Snape reached the conclusion that the continued survival of the human race, given the agony of human entry into the world, was surely a greater mystery than the genesis of magic. He'd seen revels with less mess and bloodshed.

Thankfully, that was over. Snape sat in the corner of his bedroom, one eye on the exhausted slumber of the woman in his bed, and one eye on the flannel-wrapped bundle in his arms. He felt the satisfaction of a warrior after a long, victorious battle. Surely he'd seen longer, more difficult struggles during the war, but at present, couldn't bring any of them to mind. Those battles may have been fought with wands, but none carried the sheer, raw magic of what he'd just witnessed. That woman, that woman in that bed over there. Severus Snape was not a man who gave his respect lightly. But that woman was one he would respect to the end of his days.

xxx

Hermione had never walked so much in all her life. But she was coping. Coping with the endless rhythm of pain and non-pain, tension and relaxation. Coping with the slow but inexorable progress of labor. So when, at last, it was time to call back Dona Ana, she felt as if she had jumped a hurdle of some kind.

The mediwitch arrived, checked Hermione, and pronounced cheerfully: "Congratulations, Dear. You're now in labor!"

Hermione wasn't proud of the way she'd rounded on the woman, like a snake about to strike, and hissed "You think?!"

She was tired. She was angry. She was beginning to doubt that she could do this thing. She hadn't expected childbirth to take so long. To find that she was just now entering active labor, when she felt so very close to the end of her energetic reserves, was shattering.

She indulged in a rousing round of tears and self pity, then she rallied herself, and resumed the willful act of coping. Through it all, she was aware of Severus, watching her, feeding her sips of restorative broth between contractions, spreading his concern like a blanket over her.

She was also increasingly aware of the small glass vial in Snape's pocket. She'd felt it earlier, when he'd helped her into bed. She'd known immediately what it was, one of the containers in which he kept cream based potions. She had a strong suspicion that her Slytheryn man had found some loophole in his promise to her. In that jar, very likely, was relief. A small, slytherynesque voice in her own head interjected, hadn't she counted on him to do just that?

Hermione was slipping. She knew that if he had offered the potion to her at this point, she may well have taken it. So she was grateful that he kept the vial hidden, and said no words about it.

The contractions were worse now, all consuming. They'd long passed beyond the sensation of her monthly cycle, had become like someone scraping away her insides with a wooden spatula. This was a natural process. She knew that. But she was having a hard time reminding herself that this pain wasn't wrong. It felt wrong. It felt horrible. And Hermione wasn't sure how much longer she could take it.

Just then, the next contraction hit. Stronger this time, with more teeth, and Hermione felt herself lose her grip. She struggled to relocate the center she'd been holding on to with white knuckles, but the center was simply gone. She was lost in a sea of pain. Nasty fear, fear that had been nibbling at the edges of her composure for hours now, began to take larger bites. She didn't want to do this anymore. She couldn't. She couldn't.

xxx

Severus watched Hermione with mounting concern. His years with the Dark Lord had made him an expert in pain. The shift in Miss Granger's emotions was an ominous sign. He'd seen it time and again. It wasn't the pain that broke people. Pain, while horrible, was surmountable. It could be born.

What broke people wasn't pain. It was despair. Once people lost the hope that the pain would end, some protective structure in the brain crumbled. The pain became everything. It became the universe, a dark wave so overwhelming it drowned the soul.

Severus fingered the vial in his pocket. He could simply apply it to her. She would't stop him now. And, strictly speaking, he would have been completely within the bounds of his promise to her. But would she appreciate the distinction? She was a Griffyndor, after all, a truth seeker. She might accept his intervention now, but later, when the pain had faded, what would she think then? The answer was plain to him. She would feel that he had betrayed her. She would be wrong, but nonetheless.

What should it matter if she felt that way? After all, their time together was undeniably drawing to a close. Another two weeks, and then, they would see each other once a year. He should be able to endure the disdain of a single witch for one week a year. But a traitorous voice inside of him whispered, you couldn't handle the disdain of _this_ witch. So, he left the potion in his pocket.

But the current situation was intolerable. Hermione's last few contractions had gotten progressively worse. She'd begun fighting them, thrashing around in a battle with her own body. She was hyperventilating. The Mediwitch, in what Severus thought was the first sense she'd displayed in the 9 months of their acquaintance, sternly counseled Hermione that she must get a hold of herself for her sake as well as the sake of the unborn child.

But Hermione was beyond hearing. If anything, Dona Anna's recommendation that Hermione accept relief made her thrash more. Intolerable.

Snape pulled his wand from his robes, and muttered "Legilimens."

xxx

Even in her haze of agony, Hermione felt the strange sensation of Snape slipping in to her mind. He was suddenly there, with her, enveloping her in his presence, sharing the experience with her. She was no longer alone, no longer fearful, no longer lost on the ocean of pain.

They locked eyes in that not-place and Hermione felt her center shift back. She could do this. She must do this.

When the next contraction crashed into them, sending them careening like flotsam, he showed her where to put the pain, how to re-channel the information through different pathways, make it a more neutral sensation. It was still hugely painful. But the edge of it was gone. It was enough.

xxx

They rode the next contraction together. And the next. And the next. The waves got larger, more powerful. It seemed endless to Snape, a bone-crushing journey of agony in anatomical parts that he did not even own. The next wave was horrific, taking him almost to his own edge, the place where hope would diminish. He could pull out at any time. But for Miss Granger, no such choice existed. He would not leave her. Even if it broke him.

As that contraction receded, something shifted. Severus was aware of a change in sensation, a faint, distant, but unmistakable urge to push.

He heard Hermione's great roar of triumph, felt the rush of additional strength flow in to her as she recognized her call to action. It awed him, that primal rush, the purest magic he'd ever experienced. He felt her send a thought of gratitude his way, and then found himself summarily ejected from Hermione's brain.

End Chapter 15

AN: What must it be like to have someone willingly share your darkest moment like that? Say what you will about Severus, but when the chips are down, he is a rock.

Next chapter, Birth! My hubby and daughter are out of town today, so I may very well post the rest tonight, so check back around 9pm PST.

Thanks for reading!


	16. Delivery

Chapter 16

Patrimony

Severus shuddered to find himself back in reality. His body, forgotten while he was in Hermione's mind, had not been spared. He was drenched in sweat, his hips ached, his abdominal muscles screamed with tension. Given the choice, he'd take cruicio over childbirth any day.

At this point, Hermione appeared to be faring better than he. Dona Ana had helped her get into a squatting position so that gravity might help the child descend the birth canal. Not what he'd expected, but it certainly seemed sensible. Now that she was an active participant in the birth, Hermione was recognizably herself. No longer the fearful victim of pain she had been such a short while ago.

It relieved Severus to no end to see that she had returned to herself.

xxxx

This was the strangest sensation Hermione had ever experienced. It was still painful, yes, but only moderately so. What was overwhelming was the imperative, a message received by her entire body to "PUSH." The Medwitch did not exist. Severus did not exist. Nothing existed but herself and her driving need to complete this task.

xxxx

He really had no idea what came over him. He could only term it a primal, atavistic urge. Whatever it was, it sprang into action the moment he heard Hermione roar, and saw the head of his child emerge from her body. The urge hit, and he acted without thinking. He pushed that officious, unworthy mediwitch aside. It had been his hands, yes his, that caught his daughter's slick body as it slid out. His touch was the first touch she would ever know.

She was wrinkled, covered in wax and blood and wet with fluid. Her eyes were swollen. Her face was a mask of fury at the loud, bright, cold outside world. She was the angriest little thing he'd ever seen...and she was outrageously beautiful.

On a certain level He heard Hermione's releived laughter, and the pleased clucking of the midwife. But the sounds didn't register. He had ears only for the outrage of his child's cry. His child. Yes. Most certainly his child.

The Mediwitch wanded the umbilical chord, and his daughter became an individual, independent life form. Inside his chest, something shifted, like a piece of himself breaking, a piece that would never be whole again.

He carried the child over to her laughing mother, and was surprised to find that he was reluctant to surrender his filthy screeching bundle. One would think he would be eager to pass it on. He'd always liked things tidy, in their places, full of order and self restraint. And this little creature was none of those things. He could sense, already, that this creature was the epitome of mess, that it would reorder everything if he let it. And yet, he wanted to hold on, he very much wanted to hold on.

xxxx

"Hi little girl. I'm your momma."

Hermione burst out laughing at the fierce expression on her daughter's face. No doubt at all which one of her parents she got that from.

Now that the pain was over, now that her daughter was safe in her arms, Hermione felt instantly better. Later, when the endorphins faded, she'd be sore from head to toe. But now, with her family at last complete, she felt wonderful. For they were a family, even if Severus didn't know it yet. Any doubts in her mind had been washed away when she saw how reluctant he was to hand the child to her. He was obviously head over heals in love. It was up to her to show him that.

"She's beautiful, Severus, isn't she?"

He tried to look impassive, but failed miserably, for he still had stars in his eyes. "Indeed, she is, Hermione. Indeed."

xxxx

And that was how he came to be sitting in this armchair, watching Hermione sleep, with his child bundled in his arms.

The baby, replete with her first mother's milk, was awake and alert. She looked at him with wise, suspicious eyes, as if memorizing his face. Severus returned the stare, and felt the broken part within him tumble alarmingly before settling again. He covered his discomfort with words.

"You're right to be cautious, little one. The world is a treacherous place. Not everyone is to be trusted. But you can trust your mother. She is a fine woman. Kindhearted, but strong. Some day, you'd do well to become like her. So you can trust your mother. She fought like a Banshee to bring you into this world today.

And you can trust me. I'm not a good man, daughter. But I will be good to you. You will never know the weight of an angry hand, nor the anguish of being forgotten. You will never live in a house of darkness. Your mother will see to that. As will I. If there is anything in this life that I can give you, then I shall. I swear it."

Lulled by the sound of her father's familiar, melodic voice, the child yawned, and her eyes drooped shut.

It had been 48 hours now since he last slept. 48 wrenching, difficult hours. By all rights he should be longing for rest. Instead, he felt sharp, watchful, painfully alive.

He resolved to keep watch while mother and child slept.

End Chapter 16

AN: Yay!! Congratulations to our proud new parents.

Many thanks to all of you, dear readers, for keeping me going through this point of the story. We're almost to the end now!

Theolyn


	17. Namesake

Chapter 17

Patrimony

Severus woke to the sound of singing. He followed the sound to find Hermione, stripped to the waist, sitting in his armchair, the babe busily at the breast.

He slid over, silently, but she felt his presence, and turned tired, happy eyes to his.

"Good morning Papa."

"Good morning. Is the schedule unchanged?"

Hermione grimaced. "Yes, the milktruck is still being called upon every two hours. As soon as we finish, it starts all over again. What a great way to recover from a marathon, eh?"

Snape couldn't agree more. He'd thought childbirth was barbaric. This last week, with Hermione's wild hormones, rock-hard breasts, and understandably sore bottom had been only slightly better, in his view. At least this time, she was willing to accept his aid; his potion had reduced the majority of her physical discomfort. Unfortunately, even his restoratives were no match for the incessant sleep deprivation. Between his constant need to check the infant, and the grueling schedule of feeding and changing, they'd both enjoyed snatches of sleep no larger than an hour at a time. With hundreds of thousands of years of invention, it was hard to believe that evolution couldn't have devised a more elegant solution to raising a child. One that involved a comatose period immediately after delivery, perhaps. Yes, that would be nice. They could all go into stasis, get fully rested, and then embark on this ridiculous feeding frenzy.

Miss Granger was holding up well though. No sleep, occasional bouts of massive weeping, endless thirst...and yet, she seemed happy, perpetually humming and singing and staring at her child for endless bouts of time.

And Lily. Well, she was a marvel. An loud, excrement producing, leaking, demanding marvel, but a marvel nonetheless.

Last night, as he was taking a turn at post-feeding changing, he'd turned around to find the child floating her nappies in the air. It was highly unusual to have magic manifest so early. He'd never heard of such a thing. But there was no question that she was, indeed, practicing wandless magic at the tender age of 7days. When he'd told Hermione, she'd paled visibly at the news.

They were both in for quite a challenge.

Snape caught himself. Hermione was in for the challenge. He would be no more than an ancillary part of Lily's life. Hermione's name choice still made his throat tighten. She had claimed that the name was to honor Harry's memory, but he suspected that she'd chosen the name to please him. And he was strangely surprised to find that please him, it did.

Sometime over the past year, he'd made peace with that part of his life. He no longer felt the burning guilt that he had been instrumental in Lily's death. No longer felt acid at the remembrance that she had chosen another man.

What had re-emerged in the last months was the memory of their sweet childhood friendship. With the perspective of time, he know realized it to be the first real affection he'd ever experienced. She'd taught him that there was light in the world. It was a lesson he had forgotten for many years, but even so, he felt that who he was now was largely because of her. She'd saved him. To have his child, his heir, carry her name felt right in a way he never would have imagined. That Hermione knew this, that she was generous enough to name her child after his childhood love, well, it was further evidence of her strength and generosity.

When he thought about it, he found that many of his memories of past experience had shifted of late. He'd done terrible things with Voldemort. Horrific, hurtful things. Nothing would ever change that, and the burden of the suffering he'd caused would always be his. But somehow, he was letting go of the self-recrimination. When he looked at little Lily, he felt...almost...clean.

He trooped off to the nursery to pick up a fresh cloth for Hermione. The castle had done some rearranging during Hermione's delivery, and a small, sunny room had been annexed to their bedroom by the time the ordeal was over. Severus was almost finished with the spell that would enchant the ceiling. He wanted an exact mirror of the ceiling in the great hall. Of course, since that spell was hundreds of years old, and long-forgotten, it had taken quite an effort to recreate. But he was confident that he would master it in another couple of tries.

Perhaps, had he been less sleep deprived, he would have wondered why he was putting such effort into a room that would only be occupied one week out of the year. But, as it was, his powers of introspection, like the rest of him, were exhausted. Such self-discovery would have to wait for another day.

End Chapter 17

AN: I know this chapter is a bit short...but I'm planning on posting another this evening before bed. Thanks to all of you who reviewed the birth story with such generosity. I'm honored.

All my best,

Theolyn


	18. Amas Veritas

Chapter 18

Patrimony

He really did not want to do this. Did not want to spend two of the last days of the contract brewing a potion he'd already mastered. But Hermione had asked for very little, and she had given him Lily, so he felt constrained to even the scales by consenting to her bizarre request.

Thankfully, having done it before, he was making good progress. The Amas Veritas would be completed on schedule.

It was hard to believe, but tomorrow would mark one year to the day when he and Hermione had signed that contract. At noon, the magic binding them together would dissolve. Shortly thereafter, Hermione would leave.

He'd sent a pack of houselves to her cottage with instructions that it was to be scrupulously cleaned for their impending arrival. He'd specified that fresh flowers be spread about the house, and fresh pastries stocked in the pantry. He'd even sent a potted silfskin from his personal collection. It was prized and rare. He hoped it would remind Hermione of him from time to time.

He found himself less than pleased that his female houseguests were set for departure. They were a nuisance, certainly, taking over his space, eradicating his beloved silence, filling every nook and cranny of his life with complications. But he'd grown fond of them. Terribly fond, a fact that shocked him to no end. He hadn't felt fondness for another human being since Dumbledore had died.

That is why he'd acquiesced to Miss Granger's ludicrous request that they take Amas Veritas potion together before her departure. He was only now recognizing how that was, in fact, the last thing he needed, a memory of what if felt like to love her. It would be hard enough not having her agile mind around to help him with a thorny problem, or to challenge him on some half-remembered bit of esoterica, or to alert him when she perceived, often wrongly of course, that some thought of his had gone astray.

He growled to himself. He'd grown too dependant by far. The discomfort at such a revelation was shocking. There was a time when such a dependence might have cost him his life, or the lives of innocents. He ignored the pernicious voice in his brain that whispered "These are different times."

xxxx

There. He put a stopper in the second blue bottle. He could still destroy it. Claim to Miss Granger that he had failed to brew it correctly. But he knew, even now, that he would not do so. He had attempted to repay Hermione's honesty in kind. He was not unwilling to bend the truth mind you, but he felt a curious reluctance to breaking it. Instead, he girded himself to endure what would surely be an unpleasant experience.

Hermione was in her favorite reading position, her legs dangling over the arm of the sofa, her book hovering a good foot over her nose. Would he ever see her that way again, he wondered?

Having already sent Miss Granger's things on that morning, his home looked disturbingly barren. It was missing the infuriating clutter of her books and projects and the seemingly endless necessary accoutrements to having a small child.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione sighed, and plucked her book from midair. "Severus, I thought we were beyond that "Miss Granger" silliness."

"The term of our contract has now ended. We are no longer magically bound. I thought it appropriate that we resume proper formalities."

Hermione ground her teeth, but maintained a noncommittal, pleasant face. It wouldn't do to show her hand just yet.

"So, have you prepared the Amas Veritas? I'm eager to try it."

"Yes, I have, although I fail to see what relevance this little experiment has at this stage."

"Humor me, Severus."

With that, Hermione drained the contents of her little blue bottle in one gulp.

Severus, his eyes never leaving hers, scowled and tossed his draught back. They stood in silence for a moment, waiting.

"So, Severus, how long is this supposed to take?"

Snape blinked, and furrowed his brow.

"The effects of the potion should be instantaneous. We should both feel a state of love by now."

He looked at Miss Granger, evaluated his emotions. He felt unchanged. No euphoria, no nerves, just the same respect and affection he always felt in her presence. His brow furrowed. "I don't understand. The potion is beautifully manufactured. It displays all of the hallmarks of a successful Amas Veritas."

Immediately, his mind began scanning steps. Surely there was an explanation for the faulty potion. Perhaps, in his sleep-deprived state, he had made a mistake. But he considered it highly unlikely. He was very, very skilled, and his instincts told him he'd made no errors.

Hermione smiled. "Severus, I can hear your gears turning from here. You did nothing wrong, I can guarantee it."

"Miss Granger, do you feel any different?"

"No, Severus, I don't. No change at all."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

Hermione's smile gentled. She pulled one of his hands into hers, and began to stroke it softly. "I'm looking at you "like that" because I love you Severus. Have loved you for quite a while now, actually. That's why the Amas Veritas has no effect on me. It doesn't change my feelings because I'm already in love with you. Not giddy, school-girl love, but the real deal. The love you can build a future on. Love that will stand up to the worst life has to offer, love that will last until the grave. Amas veritas isn't working on either of us, because, Severus, we're already there."

Snape pulled his hand from hers and staggered backwards. He was rapidly losing feeling in his extremities. All the blood in his body seemed to be rushing to his center, frantically attempting to flow through the narrow aperture to his suddenly throbbing heart. No. It couldn't be.

"Falling in love with me was unwise, Miss Granger. As for my part, I cannot be in love with you. I am incapable of such a thing."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, it is so. You have no idea of what I've done Hermione, the crimes that I have committed. I have taken human life."

"As have I, Severus."

"But what you did in self-defense, I did for personal gain."

Hermione's face was somber. Now, he thought, with curious sadness, she would turn away from him.

"So, I take it that murder for profit is something you still practice regularly?"

Snape was horrified. "Why, no, I would never...not now, not for many many years."

"So, let me get this straight. The fact that you once did horrible things, once when you were little older than a child, has so altered you that you are no longer capable of love?"

Severus relaxed. Finally, she was getting the truth to what he was saying.

"Yes."

"Mmm hm. And the fact that you crawled your way back from the paths of evil, that doesn't count for anything, right?"

Severus paused; he was, he sensed, about to lose control of this conversation yet again.

"Miss Granger, you are obfuscating."

"Obfuscating, am I?"

"Yes. Redemption was hardly my motive."

"Oh, it wasn't was it? I suppose the fact that you endured years of torture so that you might bring down the Dark Lord and in doing so save innocent lives, I suppose that doesn't entitle you to a little involuntary redemption?"

"Hermione. I am not a hero. I'm not even a good man. If I saved a life or two, I did it only because it seemed expedient at the time."

"Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree on that point. But I really don't see what any of this has to do with being able to love. Even if you had lost the ability to love, then you would be flying on Amas Veritas right now, begging me to be yours forever."

Snape began looking around rather frantically, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Hermione could smell his panic.

Severus Snape of the mellifluous voice did something he hadn't done since childhood. He stammered. "But, but, but, love wasn't in our contract! This was to be a simple transaction, Miss Granger, a simple straightforward transaction."

Hermione couldn't repress her bittersweet laughter. "Oh, Severus, if you could only see your face now. You'd think I was trying to shackle you to a Hungarian Horntail." She took a deep breath. "I know this is hard for you, Sev. It's hard for me. I never wanted to love you. But I do, whole heartedly. Not some idealized version of you, but you as you truly are, the dark and the light. And I want to make a life with you. But I won't force you. You've been forced enough in this lifetime I think."

She walked over, and gave him a final, soft kiss on the cheek. Then, scooping up Lily, she settled her into the length of cloth she had slung across one shoulder.

"Do us both a favor, Severus. Spend some time pondering why the Amas Veritas didn't work for you either. Lily and I are heading to my cottage. But it isn't home any more. Home is with you. Lily and I will await your owl."

For a single moment, he saw her confidence slip, saw a moment of vulnerability in her gaze. "Don't wait too long, okay Severus? Walking away from you is not easy for me. But right now, you need me to. So I'm doing it. Love is about making the right choices, even when they rip your heart in two." She paused at the door. "I love you Severus."

And with that, she was gone.

End, Chapter 18

AN: My heart breaks for her. But she's doing the right thing, giving Severus the opportunity to chose her love, rather than forcing it upon him. My hat's off, again, to Hermione. We should all be so brave.

Two chapters left to go my friends! Thank you for reading.

Theolyn


	19. Dragon at the Gate

Patrimony

Chapter 19

Severus Snape, potionsmaster, sat hunched over his great desk. He had no papers to correct, no tome to consult, no treatise upon which to put his quill. For two weeks he had tried to put the matter out of his mind, tried to avoid it. But he had been unsuccessful.

He had moved entirely out of his comfortable apartment, returning only to change his clothes. The apartment's current uncluttered state ate at his serenity, constantly reminding him of what he was missing. Better to avoid it, even if it meant sleeping in the Slytherin prefect's room.

During the daylight, he'd thrown himself into his work. Potion after potion fizzled and went flat. His wandwork hadn't been so deplorable since his time as a first-year. So he'd worked in his medicinal gardens, causing an equal amount of mayhem, until in a moment of distraction, he'd accidentally knocked the annual bud off his regonia, destroying an entire year's coddling in a single sweep of his robe. In disgust, he acknowledged that he was going to have to come to grips with Miss Granger's offer, one way or another.

And so, he'd come here, to his deserted classroom. He'd sat down, in the cold, in the gloom, where he'd always done his best thinking, and let his brain have free reign. Of course, it went directly to Miss Granger. Images of her came to him with great immediacy. Hermione, hair damp with perspiration, head thrown back in the moment of climax. Hermione, ripe with child and practicing wandwork. Hermione in labor, fighting with inhuman strength to bring forth his child. He remembered the texture of her mind, how, even in her agony, it had felt so light and untainted. How she had accepted his presence, and taken comfort in it. He considered the esteem in which he held her. The agile brilliance of her mind. The patient logic of her nature. The passionate flow of her discourse. The sweep of her hair as it fell down her back. That these thoughts opened a pit of bottomless emptiness in his emotions, he acknowledged, but put aside for later contemplation.

His brain moved on to his daughter. Lily Snape. The unbelievably delicious smell of her head. Were he to make a Amorentia potion, he had no doubt that would be its scent. He thought also of the serious bottomless darkness of her eyes. They were his eyes, he knew, only, smaller, more perfect. Her fierce demands. The rapid rhythm of her sleeping breath. The joyous rapture on her face as she made her toys dance above her bed. That thoughts of her engendered a visceral need to be close to her, he ignored. Such things, he believed, could be mastered over time.

He'd loved once before. A bright young witch named Lily. Her death had gouged in him a wound that had taken the better part of four decades to heal. To voluntarily open that Pandora's box again was ludicrous. But what of the fact that the Amas Veritas had not worked upon him? Was he truly already in love? Alas, he knew the unpalatable answer to that question. Had known the answer since the words had first come from Miss Granger's lips. It had been all he could do not to vomit them back at her, and beg her to stay with him forever. Yes, despite his resistance, he was most certainly in love.

Couldn't he just fall out of love then? Go back to how things were before? Resume his simple, safe life? Appealing as that might be, he knew that he could not. He was, he knew, a foul, ornery man. But he was also steadfast. His love for Lily had been a young, untried thing, and yet he had carried it with him for 40 years. What he felt for Miss Granger, he suspected, ran deeper than that. The idea that he might fall out of love with her, a witch who was not only alive but who also wanted him, wanted him enough to throw her heart at his feet...well, it was simply beyond his nature. Now that he loved her, he would love her forever. There was no changing that.

But it didn't mean he had to give in to her ludicrous fantasy that they become a family.

The war was over. He knew this. And yet this world was ever an uncertain place. If he allowed himself to make a family with them, then he would be truly vulnerable. Someone might come, might take them, might hurt them. He felt his shoulders pull together with tension at the thought. Yes, someone might try to hurt them. And if he remained upon this course of action, where would he be? Back at the castle, leaving them alone, defenseless. That Hermione was as almost as skilled with wand combat as he was didn't interfere with his primal instinct to defend these women. How would he ever sleep again, not knowing if they were safe? If he were with them, he would know. If he were with them, he could defend them, protect them from whatever evil might seek to take them from him.

But he couldn't do this thing. He could not make a family. What did he know about fatherhood? How to lock a child in a closet to "overcome" a fear of the dark? How to rend the fragile fabric of a child's confidence with hurtful words? How to use a strap for discipline, then rub the welts with capsicum so that the message might last longer? Those were the lessons his father had taught him.

On his best days he was acerbic. What right did he have to inflict himself on such a defenseless child? Then again, since when had he run from a topic simply because he didn't know it? He liked a puzzle. He could always learn to be a good father. He could read about it. Study it. Master it. He smiled at the idea. Yes, if he applied himself, he should be able to learn such a thing. Severus Snape, superlative father. Wouldn't that be an ironic twist? Wouldn't that be the ultimate revenge upon his own unlamented sire? To become proficient at the task that he had so bungled? A perfectly Slytherin smile moved across his face at the very thought. Revenge, at least, he was comfortable with.

And what of Miss Granger? Could he truly be her mate? When he looked beyond his knee-jerk reaction, he realized that he believed that he could. He knew this woman. Understood her needs better than he understood his own. Hadn't he acted as her mate for a year now? Hadn't he felt a bone-deep satisfaction in providing for her, keeping her well-fed, well rested, seeing to her sexual needs as well? And furthermore, hadn't the two of them enjoyed each other? Hadn't they thrived upon challenging each other intellectually? Hadn't she spurred him on to achieve greatness? Hadn't he incited her to push the limits of her own studies? Really, what other man would have the abilities to keep a witch of her caliber challenged and stimulated? She would run a lesser man into the ground in a fortnight. Yes, he was the man for this witch. Without a doubt.

And so what was stopping him? Why had he not gone to the little cottage, claimed his women, and brought them back home where they belonged? The answer was there. Had been there, shining brightly in his consciousness the entirety of his two week exile. Severus Snape, hero of Voldemort's last battle, was afraid.

xxx

Severus stood, surveying Hermione's cottage. A thin plume of smoke whisped from the chimney, a smoke colored, sleek muggle car stood in the middle of the drive. They were there, just inside. He could feel Hermione's nearness in his blood. All he needed to do was step closer, and Hermione's wards would alert her to his presence. Instead, he stood there, as the sun sank into the heather of hills, and waited.

He would have waited longer, perhaps forever, had not the sound of Lily's cry come wafting out of the open window. Instinct carried him forward, until he was brought to a jarring stop between two plantings of English Lavender. He turned to wait at the gate.

The door opened, but it was not Hermione who stepped out. A large woman with a nimbus of unruly salt-and-pepper hair, and narrowed suspicious eyes, came storming towards him. It appeared the garden gate had acquired a dragon. A 60-year-old muggle draggon with perfect teeth. But a dragon nonetheless. And that dragon was standing between him and the cottage he now desperately wanted to enter.

"So," said the dragon, "you're the potionsmaster, I take it."

"Yes, I am Sever..."

"I know your name."

"And you are?"

"You may call me Dr. Granger until such time as you've earned the right to do otherwise."

"Dr. Granger. I'm delighted."

"Yeah? Well I'm not. What were you thinking? Making Hermione wait so long? I've never seen her cry like that in her whole life. If she didn't love you so much, I'd rip your heart out right here."

Severus might have pointed out that he was a skilled martial artist, that he had a wand, and that he could use either tool to ensure that she never got close to his sternum. But he found that he couldn't help but admire the woman's courage, couldn't fault her for calling him on his bad behavior, couldn't blame her for defending her child with nails and teeth. A small, traitorous voice in his head said, "you want her to like you, don't you?" He shushed the voice, but it was too late. Indeed, he did want Dr. Granger's good regard. And so, when she threatened him, he simply remained silent, bowed his head, and accepted the tounge-lashing.

A voice, familiar, welcome, came from inside the cottage.

"Momma, stop tormenting Severus, and let him in."

Dr Granger turned and yelled back to the cottage, "He deserves it." Then she turned on him. "You do deserve it, you know."

He nodded slowly. "I do. I've been an unmitigated, slow-witted ass."

Dr. Granger looked at him appraisingly

"Yes, you have. But she loves you anyway. So you can go in. But I'm telling you now, hurt her again, and I will rip your heart out."

Snape, in a gesture that was harder for him than thrusting his hand into a cauldron of boiling oil, reached out and took Dr. Granger's hand.

"If I hurt her again, I hope that you will."

Hermione's mother humphed, and stepped aside.

xxxx

She looked tired, he realized. Her eyes had the swollen, hollow look that told him she'd been crying. He felt a wave of shame to know that he had been the cause. But the shame was overshadowed, in an instant by joy. Having not experienced a lot of joy in his life, it shook him. It took him a moment to categorize the emotion, but joy it was, pouring through him at the sight of her, with his child at her breast. He felt unexpected moisture slip down his face.

Hermione saw the emotion leap into his eyes. It was love, and it was all she needed to see to feel her equilibrium restored. He loved her; all was right with the world. She would probably have teared up too, but for the fact that her eyes were all cried out. So instead, she smiled, and reached a hand out for his. He walked over to her, fell to his knees, and brought her hand to his face, his face wet with tears.

"Hermione. I have missed you so."

Hermione closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. When she could speak without her voice breaking, she did so. "I've missed you too, Severus. So much."

"Hermione, I am not the man you think I am. No wait, allow me to finish. I'm not the man you think I am...but I would like to be. And I might be able to become him with your help."

Hermione sighed. "Oh, Severus, I don't want you to be anyone but who you are."

"But you don't know me..."

At this, Hermione laughed. "Oh, I know you. I've lived with you for most of a year. You're an obsessive compulsive, grumpy, self-centered git. You work too hard, your tongue is as sharp as a dagger, and you perpetually take two thirds of the bed. You're also brilliant, and kind, and generous. You're great in the sack. And you make wonderful pastries. And I love you. Every bit of you."

Severus Snape looked down at their joined hands. This whole thing would be easier if his blasted eyes would stop watering. "Hermione, you were entirely correct about the Amas Veritas. It did nothing to me, because I'm already in love with you. But I must confess to you that I am terrified. Terrified that I might not be what you need me to be. Terrified that I might not be what Lily needs me to be."

"I know Severus. I'm terrified too. I think that may very well be a natural part of parenthood. But lucky for us, neither of us are cowards. Fear won't keep us from what we need to do."

Severus considered that for a moment, and Hermione actually saw the relief slide into his eyes. "Indeed, Miss Granger. It seems that for the last two weeks I had forgotten that. I may not be many things, but lack of valor has never been one of my shortcomings." He smiled. A tentative, hopeful smile. "Do we need a new contract?"

Hermione laughed from deep in her belly, "Severus, could you possibly be comfortable without one?"

He paused, considered, and ruefully shook his head. "In all likelihood, not."

"Then we'd better begin negotiations."

He leaned forward, eyes open, and gently pressed his full lips to hers. She kept her eyes open as well. When they broke from the kiss, he whispered, "How's that?"

Hermione smiled, a beautiful, joyful smile. "It's a start, Severus. It's a start."

Dr. Emily Granger wiped grateful tears from her own cheeks, and silently withdrew from the room. It was, indeed, a good start.

End Chapter 19

AN: Don't you love Dr. Emily? She's modeled after my own mom, Theo. Mom was a fabulous woman, who threatened to shoot my husband in the kneecaps the day she met him. She is sorely missed; everyone needs a dragon at the gate when life gets rough!

I'm sorry that this section took so long to complete; my work life exploded this week. But now it's done. There's only the epilogue left to write. How far in the future do you want to see? A year? 5 years? 20? I'll count up the responses, and write the ending that gets the most votes. Thanks, once again, to all of you for reading. I'm truly honored that you've read this far!!

Theolyn.


	20. Epilogue

Patrimony

Chapter 20

Before having children of his own, Severus Snape had always been a proponent of nurture over nature. As an educator, he'd thought that parents played a significant role in the development of personality in their children. A child who was lazy was that way because its parents had not taught it discipline. A child with hunger for learning had been fortunate enough to be born into a better household. He scoffed at that idea now. Children came out of the womb with their own personality, practically fully formed. A parent could encourage a child to reach his or her full potential, or could hold that child back, but those changes were truly only at the margins.

Lily was, and had been since birth, a Slytherin. Marcus, two years her junior, was for Griffyndor. And Maximillian, an unexpected gift, a year later, had risen to head boy from within Ravenclaw. That his three children were fundamentally different, despite being raised in the same household, was one of life's greatest mysteries. And yet, though they were so very different, they were bound by fierce ties of affection. In childhood, if you found one sibling, you found the other two not far behind.

Even now, each with their own life, they maintained a bond of closeness. That Lily had chosen to have her brothers beside her, rather than any of her dunderheaded girlfriends, was a source of great satisfaction for him. This family was the greatest patrimony he would leave them, and of that he was quite proud.

His breath caught in his throat. His daughter. So beautiful. That she was his was undeniable, not just in nature, but also in physical features. She was moon-pale, with a cascade of ebony hair. Her slightly patrician nose only enhanced the appearance of an Elven princess. That he had survived the years of her adolescence without crucioing any of her hamhanded suitors was, to his mind, one of his life's greater achievements. And now, here she was, sheathed in a simple white dress, getting ready to bind her life to that, that, that Griffyndor. He ground his teeth, and offered his arm to his daughter.

Then, she smiled at him. A smile that was so transparently joyful he couldn't help but smile back.

"You are breathtakingly beautiful."

The smile deepened. "Yes, Father, I know."

"Are you ready for this, my Lily?" His smile faded, and deep sadness moved into his eyes. "No. Not my Lily anymore."

Lily's smile faded also. She put a hand to each side of her father's face, and drew his greying forehead to her own. "Always your Lily, Father. Always."

He closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of his firstborn child. This moment would never come again. What an emotional mess he'd become. All Hermione's fault of course. He straightened, gruffly dashing a tear from his eye. "Then if you're ready, let's go."

xxxx

He would remember it later through a haze of emotion. How proud he felt, walking with that magnificent creature on his arm. The moment of clarity when he looked into that Griffyndor's eyes and saw that he would lay down and die for his daughter. The rending ache when he placed her hand into his. The superhuman strength it took to step back and turn away. And then, like a beacon in the dark, Hermione's face, looking at his, eyes naked with love and understanding.

He followed her light, went to her, felt the comfort of her body tucking under his arm, and felt the world shift again. Everything was back in its place. Different, but right. They sat, hand in hand, and watched as their daughter pledged her life to a fine young man. If Lilly was to be even half as happy with her Griffyndor as he'd been with his, then today was an auspicious day indeed.

The End.

AN: Thank you, thank you thank you, to all of you, for reading. I have been so honored to have you all on this journey with me. Writing this has been an incredible pleasure, largely because of your rampant enthusiasm. Happy Mothers day to all of you moms, present, and future! I wish you and yours a life full of magic.

All my best, Theolyn.


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